


For Broken Words

by CloudchaserKestrel



Series: For Broken Words [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ashe/Hapi, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Heavy Angst, I accidentally made f!Byleth a self-insert oops, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, It's basically just the Azure Moon route with heavy Dimileth and other ships, It's okay m!Byleth is canon, M!Byleth/Bernadetta, M/M, Marihilda, Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Plot, Retelling, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Some Humor, Teacher-Student Relationship, You know eventually, Yuri/Dorothea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 89,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudchaserKestrel/pseuds/CloudchaserKestrel
Summary: Tagline: Two broken souls find one another, clinging to each other even as their inner demons fight to keep them apart.As Jeralt Eisner's two children adjust to their newfound jobs as academy professors amidst whispers of rebellion and heresy, Professor Byleth Eisner finds herself unable to keep away from her head of house, Dimitri. Meanwhile, her brother finds himself facing down a vast conspiracy.Part 1 of a possibly 2-part AM retelling foregrounding Dimileth romance, with a lot of additional angst and trauma to fit in with the Azure Moon theme of coping with trauma. Or that was the idea; somewhere along the way the story became less about that and more of a mess. I might actually write part 2, probably not tho, given that no one would read it if I did.Hope you enjoy what's here.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: For Broken Words [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840720
Comments: 76
Kudos: 52





	1. The Calm Before

**Author's Note:**

> A few things!  
> 1: I'm really sorry about the poor writing quality. I try, but I'm not very good. ❤  
> 2: The tone is pretty dour and bleak, I'm sorry for that. I'm a sadgirl I write sad things.  
> 3: If any of my headcanons are confusing, feel free to ask! I try to explain most of them in the fic itself.  
> 4: Sex scenes will be labeled in advance, feel free to skip cause they're mostly self-indulgence!  
> 5: Content warnings:  
> Explicit sex/masturbation, violence above canon level (no grisly detail tho; think, like, Skyrim), self-harm, depression, implied past of sexual assault, a few others I'll add as I get there.  
> Also if you like you can find me on twitter (@CloudchaserKes) tho it's not *specifically* a fandom account!

#  Chapter One: The Calm Before

The only light in Byleth’s room came from the flickering candles sitting in the center of her circular tea table. Books, neatly organized by author, title, and volume lined her shelf and desk, bookended by stone statuettes of birds she’d purchased in Remire before being hired on as a professor. She’d enlisted her brother’s help to move her dresser and desk against the wall opposite her door to allow for space for this tea table of hers, a luxury that had quickly proven itself a life-saver for relieving stress by conversing with her students. She’d also purchased a teapot and a coffee pot, along with a miniature stove on which to heat both, and a display rack for sweets, though it was empty currently. Her guest wasn’t really known for his love of sweets.

Byleth and her father sat on opposite sides of her tea table, a cup of tea in her hands and a mug of ale in his, his fourth of the visit in fact. In truth, Byleth much preferred coffee to tea, but given the lateness of the hour, she had opted for a nice black tea, brewed and bitter.

“How’re you adjusting to the new job, kiddo?” Jeralt relaxed further in his chair, a tipsy grin plastered upon his candle-lit face, setting his mug down on Byleth’s table, splashing a bit of ale onto her clean blue tablecloth. She frowned at this, but said nothing; she was far too used to her father’s poor table manners.

“I am unsure that this still counts as a ‘new’ job, if I am being honest. I have acclimated well enough to it, but I have also been working here for around two months, so it is becoming less unfamiliar.” She took a sip of her tea, gently setting the cup back on its coaster, savoring the bitter warmth of the drink.

“I guess that’s fair. Your brother’s attitude always makes it feel like it’s still our first week here.” He laughed heartily. “He looks like a fish out of water.”

Byleth suppressed her own laughter. “That is far too true. Though Caiym’s students certainly seem to admire him.”

“So do yours, kiddo,” her father said with a smile.

“I suppose.” Her students, the Faerghus Kingdom’s Blue Lions, were definitely earnest, but whether they liked her or not wasn’t something she’d considered. Felix certainly seemed slightly less cold to her than he was to everyone else, that much was true, and Sylvain’s ceaseless flirting might have indicated positive feelings if it wasn’t Sylvain, but the rest of them treated her no differently from how they treated others, as far as she could tell. Ashe had been especially distant of late, though she was reasonably certain it was his unease regarding their upcoming mission, dealing with his adoptive father.

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself, huh?” He took a large swig from his mug, finishing off what was left of his ale, and let out a loud belch. Byleth winced. “Well, glad we could chat for a little bit, at least. But it’s getting late, and I’m getting drunk.” He ruffled her hair and stepped out, closing the door to her room behind him. Byleth frowned at the wet spot on her tablecloth, the tipped over mug on her table, the empty ale bottles strewn about, and the crumbs littering her floor. With a deep sigh, she gathered a rag and broom from her closet and set about cleaning up her father’s mess.

Her own reservations aside, Byleth did have to admit she greatly enjoyed teaching at the monastery. Garreg Mach was quickly becoming a home for her, despite her general lack of faith in the Goddess and her unease around Rhea, no,  _ Lady _ Rhea, she corrected herself. The other professors treated her well enough, and most of the students were amicable at least towards her, with the exception of Ferdinand from her brother’s Black Eagles, though admittedly  _ that _ animosity was almost entirely on her end. Regardless, she’d grown fond of a good many students, especially Hilda, from the Golden Deer house, with whom she had quickly become friends, although not entirely by her own choice. Hilda was rather insistent on spending time around her, though Byleth could not even begin to understand why. She did appreciate the company, however, and she couldn’t deny that having another woman in her life after so many years with just her father and brother for actual companionship was a breath of fresh air, even if she had no idea how to interact with people. She’d also formed something of a bond with her house leader, Dimitri, who oftentimes seemed eager to please her and share her company. She couldn’t help but admit she liked him, perhaps more than she should; she’d caught herself daydreaming about him on occasion, and he fit the “prince charming” archetype she’d always dreamed about. She was ashamed of herself for these fantasies, deeply ashamed, but regardless, they came, often unbidden.

With a deep, exhausted sigh, Byleth removed her dress, a traditional dancer’s attire covered in multiple metal bits and pieces of flowing cloth that left her legs exposed in the front, as well as her left shoulder. Despite the complexity of its appearance, it was easily removed by simply undoing the shoulder clasp. While she wasn’t a dancer herself, Byleth liked the way it moved and flowed as she performed the motions of spellcasting, and even more as she practiced the martial arts she’d learned from her brother. The various loose parts were likely a liability on the battlefield, but she didn’t especially care; it looked nice. She removed her glasses as well, wiping off the lenses and fumbling around for their leather case. With all of her disrobing finished, she curled up on her bed and closed her eyes.

*  *  *

“He terrifies you? Really?” Byleth said, stirring her curry half-heartedly. The dining hall was full of chatter, but the three girls, Byleth, Hilda, and Marianne, had found a spot where they could talk in relative quiet. Each had a different food on her lunch plate. Byleth’s curry had been a last-minute request; she wasn’t especially hungry, but the thought of something spicy had sounded appealing to her. Hilda’s plate had a small portion of sauted fish and vegetables. Marianne’s was similar, albeit with just the salad rather than the fish. “My brother is not that scary.”

“Yeah, to  _ you _ , professor!” Hilda stretched out the sound of the word  _ you _ , emphasizing it almost cruelly. “You’re totally used to him! But to me, he’s like, the scariest. Right, Marianne?”

“M-Me?” Marianne gasped, nearly dropping her fork into her salad. “Um, I guess he can be a little intimidating, but I don’t really-”

“See, professor?” Hilda said, cutting off her timid friend, “He’s intimidating! Even Marianne says so!”

“Hilda, you didn’t let me finish,” Marianne said, somewhat meekly. “He can be a little intimidating, but I don’t think he’s  _ terrifying  _ exactly. I mean, I thought he was at first, but…” Marianne blushed as her voice trailed off and her eyes fell to her plate.

“Oh. My. GOSH!” Hilda squealed. “Marianne, you’ve got a crush, don’t you? That is so totally adorable!”

“H-Hilda! I don’t have a crush, I just… I…” Marianne blushed deeper red and tried to bury her face in her hands.

Byleth giggled. “Stop teasing her, Hilda,” she chided insincerely. “At this point, you are just being cruel.” Despite herself, Byleth was smiling, something she’d been doing more and more since coming to the monastery.

“Right, right. Sorry, Marianne,” Hilda said halfheartedly. “Anyway, what about you, professor? Anyone here catch your eye?”

It was Byleth’s turn to blush. “What? No, I- Well, okay, maybe, but- Wait no, I mean no!” she sputtered.

“Maybe? Oooooh, you gotta tell me who! Wait, no, let me guess… You spend a lot of time with Felix, right?”

“That is only because he is persistent in his efforts to spar with me, nothing more! Ever since I disarmed him in practice that one time, he refuses to let up! I keep telling him I am not much of a martial artist, nor do I have much skill with weaponry, and yet he is so… so stubborn! It is more vexing than endearing. Um, but he is not to know I said this.”

Hilda grinned mischievously. “Of course not, professor!” she said with a wink. “Besides, it’s not like I talk to Felix all that often anyway. Talk about cruel! And boring. Right, Marianne?”

“Me? Again?” The unmistakable clatter of metal-on-ceramic sounded through the dining hall as Marianne’s fork dropped from her hand. Once she regained her composure, Marianne said “I-I don’t know, I’ve never spoken to him. I guess he is a little scary?”

“And boring!” Hilda added. “Right, so it’s not Felix. Hmmm… okay, maybe I can’t guess. You gotta tell me, professor! Is it Dimitri? Petra? Dorothea? Yuri? Sylvain? Oh goddess, it’s not Sylvain is it? Oooh, or Seteth?”

“P-Please, Hilda!” Byleth couldn’t see her own face, but judging by how warm it felt, she imagined she must have been redder than her curry by now. “I-I am a professor; it would not be right to have interest in a student!”

“Aha!” Hilda’s face lit up. “So it  _ is _ Seteth! I really should’ve guessed he’d be your type. So you like  _ older _ men?”

“Hilda, please stop this! I really dislike talking about this kind of thing, a-and furthermore, I do not have feelings for Seteth, or  _ anyone _ here.” She was only half-lying. She couldn’t deny that she felt  _ something _ for Dimitri, but she wouldn’t exactly consider her feelings romantic. Though she was uncertain what, exactly, romantic feelings felt like. She knew what lust felt like, certainly, but her only knowledge of love and romantic attraction came from the cheap, raunchy romance tales she’d read for self-satisfaction on her travels with her father, and the flowery, intense language those authors used to describe love, while colorful, was far from evocative of how she felt about anyone, nor was it the prose she’d paid the most attention to.

“Okay, okay, sorry professor,” Hilda said half-heartedly. “Anyway, you seem a little bit more comfortable teaching lately! I’ve noticed your lectures are much less stiff than they used to be, and you’re stuttering a lot less too.” 

Byleth relaxed, grateful for the change in topic. “Yes, I suppose that is true. I did teach my brother how to read when we were younger, so I suppose I am just carrying on with the same methods as I did then.” 

“I’m glad you’re getting more comfortable with it. Though your awkwardness was pretty cute, too.” Hilda stood, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. “Well, lunch was fun! I’m glad you chose to eat with us today! Oh, and when are we meeting for tea again?”

“I believe the best time for that would be once I return from my mission this month. I have a lot of work I have to catch up on before I leave, so I will more than likely be too busy.”

“Okay! Well, whenever you’re free! Come on, Marianne, we’ve got combat training next!”

“Um, right. Good day, professor.”

Hilda wrapped her hand around Marianne’s and the two girls walked away together. Byleth couldn’t help but smile at such a simple action. For all Hilda’s teasing, the two did have a deep bond with one another. At times, she envied the two of them. As friendly as she was with Hilda, she still felt distant from everyone else. Even her brother and father.

Jeralt was a bit prickly with everyone and often hid a lot of his feelings behind sobriety, only really opening up while intoxicated. Caiym, on the other hand, despite her earlier defense of him, was hard to approach. He was taciturn, grim, and seemed perpetually angry. She knew he had a softer side, given his protectiveness towards her and his devotion to his students. Even so, she found him hard to talk to. His expression seldom changed from a dour frown, and he could often be somewhat insensitive. Plus, he had no heartbeat.

As Byleth turned to walk out of the dining hall, she saw him. Her brother sat alone, his dark hair falling over his empty blue eyes. He was resting one elbow on the dining hall table, hand contemplatively over his mouth as he surveyed his surroundings with practiced caution. His left hand rested on the iron sword at his side, never out of arm’s reach. His dark armor and coat, offset by the bright red designs on his chest, seemed to blend in with the shadows, as though he were emerging from them. His brow was furrowed either in thought or in anger, she could never tell which. Before him sat a platter of sweets: a slice of frosted cake, topped with a strawberry; a half-empty cup of peach sorbet; some kind of baked fruit pie; a small plate of cookies. In his right hand, obscured by its positioning, sat a pouch of sugary fruit juice. “Sister,” he said, nodding.

“Brother,” she replied. “Quite the healthy lunch you have there. I see at least some fruit.”

His frown deepened. “I had meat with breakfast.”

At that, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course. How rude of me. Regardless, it is quite unusual to see you eating alone. Usually one of your students has to drag you to the dining hall.”

“Not today.”

“So I see. Enjoy your lunch, brother,” she said, walking towards the exit.

“I am.”

Caiym glanced her way, briefly, then returned to his meal. She was right. It was “unusual” for him to eat alone. He wanted to think. Alone, if possible. He’d even told Sothis to shut up. Something about the mess with Lonato bothered him. Not that he knew what. The timing, perhaps? It seemed suspect that Lonato would choose this month of all months to attack. According to Yuri, “the writing had been on the wall,” but even still, it seemed sudden to him. Perhaps he had been spurred onward by someone?

_ And perhaps you’re thinking too much, _ Sothis interjected.

_ I told you to shut up. _

_ And I complied for a while.  _ He could picture her now, lounging on that throne of hers.  _ But you are getting nowhere. Is it that difficult to accept that this situation is merely outside of your understanding? _

__ __ _ No. But I feel like it isn’t. There’s something I can’t see. _ He felt his brow furrow.  _ It’s like a puzzle. I have the pieces, but I can’t figure out where they go. Or something. _

_ Or maybe you  _ think _ you have the pieces, but you do not. You might be experienced in combat, but you’re still new to this kind of life, remember. _

Caiym glared at no one in particular.

*  *  *

The training ground was alive with the sound of wood hitting wood. Sylvain and Ingrid stood opposite Felix, all armed with training swords, taking turns striking at one another. Ashe fired arrow after arrow into the archery targets lining the back wall as Hapi sat and watched intently. Annette swung a training axe at a training dummy while Mercedes cheered her on. A few spots down, a shirtless (well, more shirtless than usual, having discarded his coat) Balthus, nominally a Golden Deer though not technically a student anymore, threw jab after jab at Dedue, who blocked each one with careful poise, as Yuri watched, seemingly transfixed, or at least humoring Balthus with a faux-transfixed stare. 

“Professor, are you quite certain you don’t want to participate in our drills?” Dimitri’s voice rang out above the din of practice battle behind him. “I know you tend to favor magic, but, as Annette can attest, these drills do make for good exercise.”

Byleth smiled. “If you insist, then I suppose I may as well.” She rose from her seat on the half-wall around the central combat area and took a position before him, marveling, not for the first time, at his towering figure and striking blue eyes, framed by his unkempt blonde hair and easy smile. He was what she imagined the great heroes of storybooks looked like, heroic and beautiful at once, towering above her.

_ Byleth _ , she warned herself,  _ he’s your student. _

Dimitri took up a practice lance, offering another to her. The training weapon was far too heavy in her hands, with its wooden build and iron core. Dimitri gave her an apologetic glance at the sight of her struggling. She smiled back, adopting a fighting stance she believed she had seen her father take once or twice when training.

“What are you doing, Professor?” Dimitri laughed. “That stance is far too off-balance. May I?” Byleth nodded, thoroughly embarrassed. Dimitri put his strong hands over her left arm, lowering it, then adjusted her right leg, bringing it in more. “Like this, you should be more able to keep your guard. Shall we begin?”

“Indeed.”

Byleth raised her weapon in a salute, and her student did the same. Dimitri lowered his weapon, point to the ground. Byleth took an unsteady step forward.  _ To hell with this, _ she thought. She tossed her lance to the ground and dashed at Dimitri, unarmed. He blinked twice, not anticipating the sudden rush nor the discarding of her weapon, but adjusted his stance. He met her initial punch with a stab from his lance, banking on the larger reach of his weapon compared to her bare hand. Anticipating this, Byleth snapped her arm to the side, using her momentum and his spear’s distance from his center of gravity to turn the point aside. In a fluid motion, she lifted her knee, striking at his chest, though she stopped just short.

“Remember to expect the unexpected,” she said, returning to a resting stance. “But I do not think combat training is conducive to my usual methods. I apologize, but I believe it best if I observe for now.”

“As you wish, Professor.”

Dimitri returned to a neutral stance with his lance, moving through several basic forms. Eventually, the summer heat proved to be too much for the prince of a cold land, dressed as he was in all black. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a muscled, scarred torso beneath it. Byleth blushed, staring at him despite herself. The sunlight reflected off of him, causing him to almost glow in the summer heat. He resumed his drills, seemingly blissfully unaware of his professor’s staring.

“That’s a damn shame, professor,” Sylvain called to her. “I was hoping to see you exert yourself a bit today.”

“Unfortunately, exerting myself is not my job. Keep your eyes on your own match.”

“But I’d rather keep them on y _ oof. _ ” Sylvain doubled over as Felix caught him in the gut with his training sword. Byleth smirked slightly.

After a while, with her class’s physical training for the day completed, Byleth returned to her room under the setting sun, unable to stop her heart from fluttering as it was.

*  *  * SMUT HERE *  *  *

Byleth squirmed in her bed. The day had been exhausting, between Hilda’s teasing, her work with the Blue Lions, and Sylvain’s incessant flirting, and yet she was restless still. It wasn’t coffee this time; she’d had her last cup shortly after lunch. She tossed and turned, fruitlessly. She could feel a familiar ache in her lower body. She sighed and slid a hand down between her legs, rubbing herself gently. She let out a small gasp.  _ It has been far too long, _ she thought, as she slid her middle finger inside, letting out another moan. Her other hand found its way to her breast, teasing her nipple in a circular motion. Unbidden, almost alien, an image entered her brain. It wasn’t one of her trashy romance novel heroes, but rather the head of her Blue Lion house, Dimitri, sweat glistening on his shirtless body as he trained with his lance, his muscles rippling in the sunlight, tightening with each practice thrust. She closed her eyes, fixating on the image. Her sighs and moans grew faster as she neared climax. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her mouth in her pillow to muffle them, bucking her hips somewhat from the pleasure. She bit into the fabric of her pillowcase, sliding her ring finger inside her and thrusting it and her middle finger at a frenzied pace. All at once, she felt a rush of sensation in her lower body. Her thighs twitched and her legs fell out from under her raised hips. She muffled a loud sigh of release with her pillow as her entire body went limp from the pleasure, tears welling in her eyes. Within minutes, she was asleep.


	2. The Storm in the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Lions face off against Lonato.  
> Honestly that's about all that happens this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out the formatting of the copy/paste might start to get a bit wonky! I'm sooooooo sorry for that, I have no idea what's causing it!  
> Also I guess I lied about 1/day, 2 chapters getting posted today cause I can't schedule future stuff like I thought I could aaaaaa

#  Chapter Two: The Storm in the Mist

None of the Blue Lions felt the least bit heroic as they trudged through the wet, dew-covered ground, least of all Byleth. Her student’s doubts were plastered on their faces, their eyes downcast and pace unsteady. Annette, always energetic and cheerful, walked in total silence, not even uttering a word to her friend Mercedes, who had her head down and hands clasped in prayer as she walked. Ingrid, ever the picture of knightly valor, soldiered on despite herself, though her furrowed brow and noticeable frown betrayed her grim mood. Sylvain’s face, rather than bearing a flirtatious smile, was a mask, unreadable and stony. Even the callous Felix wore a hint of uncertainty in his usual vaguely-angry frown. Most affected, naturally, was Ashe. In his troubled expression brewed a mix of anguish and fear, his normally bright green eyes overcast by both hesitation and shadow from his messy platinum hair. Hapi, the dark-skinned redhead Byleth had recruited from amongst the “students” living in Abyss below the monastery, walked beside him. Unlike the rest, her expression spoke more of a dulled anger. Judging by their last conversation, Byleth assumed she was against involving herself on the side of the church against an uprising. Dedue, bringing up the rear of the line, bore the same scowl he always had, making him inscrutable, though she doubted the man’s gentle nature allowed this mission to sit well with him. 

Dimitri and Yuri walked beside her. Yuri, as a stark contrast to the students, seemed at ease; not happy, but not as uncertain as the rest. His eyes, framed by eyeliner and eyeshadow that matched his lavender hair, glanced with disdain at the mud staining his white boots. She supposed running a criminal empire beneath the surface of a renowned Central Church monastery must’ve done wonders for his moral compass. Despite his apparent lack of empathy, she knew his heart was in the right place. One visit to Abyss had shown her that; his good deeds were praised endlessly by those he sheltered there in his sunless lair.

Byleth couldn’t even bring herself to look at Dimitri. Her shameful moments alone in bed the night before haunted her, and even a glance during their briefing earlier this morning had filled her with self-loathing. What kind of teacher fantasizes like that about her student? She was certainly the worst of the worst.

“I expect this level of doom and gloom from the kids, friend, but not as much from you,” Yuri said, shattering the tense silence like glass with his calm, sardonic-yet-easygoing voice. “I’d have thought you’d be a bit beyond all that by now, being a mercenary and all.”

“I was never a mercenary. My father and brother kept me from combat, so I am still rather unfamiliar with this sort of thing.”

“I can tell. Wearing sandals on a mission to Castle Gaspard was an interesting choice. Not one I’d have made.” He winked at her. “Of course, you wouldn’t be  _ you _ without your cute little moments like this.”

Byleth reddened slightly. “I-I did not consider the terrain quite as much as I should have, I admit. I cannot even blame this on inexperience with battle. I have taught mindfulness of terrain and mud.”

Yuri laughed at that. “Like I said, it just wouldn’t be you without these moments. But next time, I advise getting a pair of boots, yeah?”

Before Byleth could react, Hapi interjected, “Hey, quit teasing Blue, Yuri-bird. Bit insensitive right now, don’t you think? Even Sylvie is leaving her alone.”

Yuri put up his hands. “Fine, fine. I was just trying to lighten the mood, that’s all. It’s not like we’re here to fight.”

As if on cue, Catherine sprinted towards the trudging Blue Lions taking up the rear of the advancing Church forces, her blonde hair speckled with blood and grime. “Look alive, everyone. The mission’s gotten a bit complicated.”

*  *  *

The men before her were shaking, holding their ground, but trembling, evident in the sway of their weapons and clatter of their armor. These were militiamen, volunteers, no more suited to this conflict than her own students. She wanted to cry out, to stop this forthcoming violence, but there was no point; Catherine marched a few yards ahead, sword drawn, Church soldiers in tow, their open aggression dampening any hope of a peaceful end to hostilities.

One boy, bold, brave, and stupid, took a few steps forward, raising his lance. He could be no older than fifteen. He moved to strike Catherine and was cut down in an instant by her many-branched sword, his blood splattering the blade as well as the ground before him. Byleth didn’t even have time to react, she could only watch the boy’s terrified expression as he fell, lifeless. 

A grim, stunned silence stretched on for a few moments. The militia, what few were visible in the mist, refused to back down. The soldiers and the Blue Lions hesitated. The  _ woosh _ of an arrow, its source unknown, broke the silence, and all hell broke loose.

At once, the militia charged out from the trees, flanking the soldiers and the students. The Church forces took defensive postures, all except Catherine and her knights, who rushed forward, disappearing into the mist, audible more than visible. The occasional spark from steel on steel served as the only hint of what transpired beyond the gray veil. Byleth turned towards her students, holding the line against the untrained militia with little trouble, though they were justifiably hesitant to actually attack. Byleth stepped forward, flinging a jet of flame as she did. She was just as hesitant to kill these people, but it had to be done.  _ No hesitation _ . Her father’s words propelled her forward. The flame hit the chest of one man, who screamed and stumbled back. With the militia’s line broken, the Blue Lions pressed forward, seizing the momentum. 

Byleth turned towards Catherine. Despite the knight’s immense skill, the ambush and the mist had her on her back foot, fighting more defensively than she was apparently used to. “Catherine!” she called.

“Professor! What the hell are you doing? Distract them or something!” Catherine replied, taking a step back as a militiaman swung at her with an axe. She angled her sword downward and thrust forward, then up, cutting the soldier’s chest and chin. She pressed on, away from the militia.

_ Distract them. Right. I think a wall of fire will do the trick! _ Byleth stood still for a moment, eyes closed, unable to see the militia approaching her. She raised her arm skyward, drawing forth as much magic as she could. She could feel a surge of power within herself. She concentrated, drawing forth more, nearly enough to drain herself in one strike. She lowered her arm, aiming it towards the enemy soldiers. There was a flash, an explosion, and all was silent.

Corpses lay scattered around Byleth’s feet, blackened by fire. Some of them, the unfortunate ones, screamed still, burning alive still, not taken by the mercy of death. She’d killed before, but never this many, not all at once. It was overwhelming. Her spell had unleashed a sea of fire, igniting the ground before her, the people on that ground, and the trees several yards back.

In those trees, unnoticed a moment ago, stood a mage, dressed in a uniform quite unlike the Castle Gaspard militia, his black robes and beaked mask visible only through the flickering light of the fire around him, chewing through the trees. The mist seemed to emanate from his location, swirling in to cover him briefly before being chased off by the fire again. Seeing her opportunity to shift the weight of the battle in her favor, Byleth charged. The mage took a half-step back, then raised his hand, releasing a ball of black-purple muck from it with a word. It flew at Byleth, spreading and expanding, hissing with acid. She dropped into a forward roll, tumbling under the miasma and returning to her feet, sprinting onward. She let loose a fireball of her own, though as she expected, the mage casually turned it aside with a wave of his hand. She repeated the motions, sending a small barrage of fire his way, each blast turned aside or dispelled completely. However, each dispelled blast was an attack not sent by the mage. Eventually, she arrived in the copse the mage had taken as his cover. With a yell, she threw a jab towards his midsection. He stepped back, ducking behind the trunk of a nearby elm for safety. Byleth leapt to follow up, only for the mage to retaliate with a point-blank sphere of miasma. She barely had time to throw her arms into a block before the thick, burning liquid connected with her. She cried in pain, stepping away from the mage in an attempt to regain her composure. The mage, sensing weakness, prepared another spell, aiming for her head.

The mage barely had time to sputter as a rapier point tore through his chest.

Yuri tore his sword from the enemy mage, then delivered a follow-up pommel strike to the side of the man’s head. Byleth heard the sickening  _ crunch _ of the mage’s skull, and watched his dark hood redden with blood. “Try and be more careful, yeah?” Yuri said with a slight grin. “Thank me later.” He slipped away, out of the thicket and back into the fray.

With the mage’s death, the fog began to dissipate. Byleth steadied herself against a tree. She could hear the sounds of her students and Catherine fighting Lonato’s militia not too far away. She knew she should join them, but the pain was unbearable. Her arms burned. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to step forward, stopping when the pain became too much. She cried out, falling to her knees, clutching at the now-forming welts from the burning liquid.

“Professor?” A soft voice called her to her senses. Ashe stood above her, his bow slung over his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

She could only nod.

“Here. Let me get you to Mercedes.”

He offered an outstretched hand. She took it, and he pulled her to his side, supporting her with his shoulder as he walked with her to Mercie’s impromptu infirmary. Soldiers from the church and from Lonato’s army alike lay on blankets, their superficial wounds healed, but their more serious wounds being gently tended to by Mercie, with the same kindness and softness with which she baked her sweets. She hummed a hymn to herself as she worked, a caring, soothing smile across her face.

“Oh! Hello, Professor!” she said brightly upon seeing the pair. “Oh my, that looks like a nasty wound. Here, let me help!”

Byleth nodded, biting her tongue to keep from crying out. She felt so pathetic. A single wound, and she was rendered useless. Such was the problem with her inexperience, she supposed. She’d volunteered, far too hastily, to take this mission, given Ashe’s connection with the area and with Lonato himself. She should’ve sent Ashe with Caiym and his Black Eagles. They’d not only demolished her in their initial mock battle (admittedly purely due to Caiym himself), but according to Thea, they’d also made quick work of the bandit Kostas and his crew. Byleth had hoped that Catherine and Yuri would make up for her inexperience with combat, and perhaps they did, but she couldn’t help but feel worthless.

_“If yer feelin’ useless, I got a couple ideas for ya.”_ _She could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath. The way he leered at her made her uncomfortable, but she’d never had reason to doubt her father’s choice in subordinates before. She nodded._

A sudden jolt of pain snapped her out of her dark memories. Mercie had placed her hands over Byleth’s arm, and a surge of magical energy made its way into the wound. At once, the pain dulled, and the welts began to disappear.

“There! All finished,” Mercie said with a smile. “Was that your first time getting hit by dark magic? Not all of it is quite that painful, but it can be a shock if you’re not ready for it.”

“I-It was. I am self-taught with magic, so I suppose I have never learned to counter it effectively.”

Mercie’s smile faded. “Oh, professor! You should’ve said something! Annie and I would be happy to teach you all about how to defend against magic. We learned a lot about it at the school of sorcery.”

Byleth nodded. “Perhaps, though I cannot help but see the absurdity of a student instructing a professor.”

She stood, inhaled, placed her hands above her head, then slowly lowered them to her midsection as she exhaled, a meditative exercise she’d practiced.

“Come on, professor!” Ashe said. “We should rejoin the others. M-Maybe I can still try and talk some sense into Lonato.”

The two darted off towards the battlefield. Byleth hoped Lonato was either already dead or willing to see reason, though something in her gut told her neither was the case.

The ringing of steel on steel sounded not too far away. Dimitri and Dedue stood side by side, the larger man of Duscur throwing his shield in front of attacks meant for his liege as Dimitri maneuvered his lance, piercing and stabbing with practiced efficiency. Byleth couldn’t help but picture his form in drills, the sweat glistening on his-  _ Enough of that, _ she interrupted herself. Hapi stood shortly behind the pair, tossing the occasional spell half-heartedly into the fray, acting more as a distraction than as a true combatant.

Beside them, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid formed a triangle offensive. Felix took the lead, his shorter reach compensated for by his unrivaled speed and unhesitating advances. Sylvain and Ingrid followed close behind. Ingrid’s practiced motions matched the efficiency of Dimitri’s, though with a fair few more thrusts than wide swings. Sylvain, meanwhile, was like a whirlwind, striking with force more than with technique. Even so, their combined offensive made quick work of Lonato’s militia.

Annette stayed a short distance away from the three childhood friends, occasionally peppering the enemy forces with a fireball or with a gust of wind, and occasionally darting in to heal one of the trio when they took a hit.

Yuri was nowhere to be seen, his presence only known when a Mage’s spells would sputter out, seemingly for no reason, or when an enemy soldier would disappear into a thicket, never to return.

Catherine, by contrast, made her presence unmistakable. She swung her glowing Thunderbrand into large swaths of enemy knights, cutting down two or three at a time, moving with unnatural speed and ferocity. And yet, despite the outright savagery of her movements, Byleth found her oddly beautiful.

A harsh voice rose above the cacophony of battle. “Don’t let up! Men, bring me that vile woman’s head!” An older knight sat atop a horse, his hand gripping a lance and his face contorted with rage. His aura of command set him above even the practiced knights on the field. Even without knowing a thing about him, this man’s identity was unmistakable.

“Lonato, please!” Ashe called, sprinting ahead of Byleth. “Please, stop this! There’s no reason to fight!”

“Ashe. I never wanted to involve you in this conflict. I can’t just allow that woman to live after what she did to Christophe.”

“Please, Lonato! No one else needs to die today! Just surrender now!” Tears began to streak down Ashe’s freckled cheeks.

“If I surrender, I’ll die anyway.” Lonato’s expression darkened. “And I would rather die fighting for what I believe in than be executed like a common criminal by the corrupt Central Church! Stand down, Ashe. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Ashe stopped. Byleth ran towards her pupil, taking a defensive unarmed stance in front of him, lest he be killed while caught off-guard.

Lonato spurred his horse forward, lowering his lance level with her chest. Byleth stood her ground, preparing a fireball in her right hand as she switched to lead with her left. She would have one shot before that lance tore through her. She couldn’t hope to block it, and she refused to dive out of the way and put Ashe in danger. Lonato charged. Byleth took a step forward with her right foot, launching the fireball at his center mass. It connected, leaving a blackened mark upon his breastplate, but did nothing to slow his charge. Byleth’s eyes widened.  _ At least I’ll die for something, after living for nothing.  _ She braced for impact.

But that impact never came. Lonato jerked backwards off his horse, yanking the beast to the ground with him. An arrow protruded from his skull, right between his eyes. He had likely died instantly. The sounds of battle seemed to fade all at once. Everything was very still. Ashe stood, his head downcast, his eyes hidden behind his messy hair, bow leveled, the bowstring still trembling after his single, well-placed shot.

* * *

Ashe sat in silence in the chapel, head bowed. The usual hustle and bustle of priests, soldiers, and knights avoided him, not knowing how to approach the boy. Byleth let out a small sigh, then approached. “May I sit?”

“O-Oh, professor. Go ahead.” Ashe didn’t look up.

She sat down, leaning forward. “I know I do not need to ask if you are okay. It would be unreasonable to expect you to be.”

“I’m sorry, professor. I’ll pull myself together and-”

“If that is what you want to do, then I will not stop you. However, I would ask that you not feel the need to.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You are hurting. You lost your father. Hurt, if that is what you need to do. Just know that I am here for you, should you need anything.”

He remained silent for a long time. “Thank you, professor,” he said finally. 

*  *  *

“You holding up okay, kiddo?” Her father studied her carefully through her open bedroom door. Byleth sat on her desk, staring blankly at a stack of exams she knew she had to grade. It all felt so ridiculous after Lonato.

“I am fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Jeralt stepped into her room and sat himself on the edge of her bed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I am  _ fine _ ,” she insisted. “I just… lack the experience you and my brother possess, that is all. I never should have volunteered for such a mission.”

“Probably not, no,” Jeralt said with a comforting smile. “But I’m proud of you for coming home in one piece. Hell, none of your brats were even wounded! That’s something to be proud of, right?”

“That has nothing to do with me.” She lowered her head, unable to stop herself from crying. “I nearly got myself killed. Twice. I was a burden to everyone out there.”

“Hey now. It’s all right, kiddo. No one’s a master combatant on their first outing, no matter how much sparring they do to prepare.” He stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing just fine.”

“I am not!” She stood quickly, knocking her chair to the ground. “I could have gotten myself killed, or any one of them killed trying to save me! I have tried so hard and still…  _ still _ I am just… worthless!”

Jeralt pulled his trembling daughter into a hug. “You’re not worthless. You’re right, you probably shouldn’t have volunteered to put down a rebellion. But you did, and even  _ if _ you messed up once or twice, you still came home. You still brought your brats home. Sometimes, that’s more than enough. Even for me.”

Byleth couldn’t respond. Her body shook from crying.

“It’s okay, kiddo. Byleth. I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers to a few questions some may have.  
> Q: Why all the changes to Byleth necessitating the two-Byleths AU?  
> A: Accommodating playstyle, more or less. I always run Byleth as a mage, typically War Monk or Dark Flier. I didn't want to write her as just her canon self but with magic, so I improvised. Plus, I really like the idea of Eisner Siblings! f!Byleth gets the name cause that's who I typically play, m!Byleth/Caiym is otherwise the canon version of the character.
> 
> Q: Why is Byleth self-loathing?  
> A: Cause I am, and I started filtering that into my writing. Byleth sorta became a self-insert right away, which wasn't what I initially intended, but it kinda happened. I promise I'll write more canon-compliant stuff at some point!
> 
> Q: Why is Sothis how she is?  
> A: Short version, fic was getting really sad and I wanted humor, so I decided to just run with the idea of gremlin!Sothis as comic relief.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the writing! Comments/criticism super welcome!


	3. Ashen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PoV chapter from Caiym, aka m!Byleth, as he goes about a fairly normal day:  
> Sparring with his sister, eating food he hates at the behest of the voices in his head, practice with his students, tea with his house leader, and an evening on the town.
> 
> CW: First chapter featuring actual violence that will be typical of the fic from here on out. Again, I stray away from grisly, but it's still more than canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting is still messy aaaaaaa!

#  Chapter Three: Ashen

Caiym looked around the training ground, lit only by the early morning sun. No one was present, save himself and his troubled-looking sister.  _ Empty. Good. _ He took up a practice sword, holding one to his sister. Byleth refused it. “You know I can barely lift weapons, brother.”

“Fine.” Without another word or so much as a salute, he charged her. Byleth, caught off guard, turned and kicked at her brother. Caiym turned aside, swinging the sword at her throat, stopping just shy of actually connecting. “That’s a kill.”

“I was not ready!” she protested.

“Few are.” He stepped away from her, giving her a short time to steady herself. “Again.”

Byleth quickly dropped into a fighting stance. Caiym again rushed forward, the point of his sword first. Byleth was ready this time. She moved her hand to turn the blade aside, a self-defense move Jeralt had shown her. Caiym spun the sword so her hand connected with the edge, what would have been a sharp side on a true sword, though even dull as it was, he could see it hurt. He used her sudden shock to step within her guard, placing the point of his sword at her chest. “That’s a kill.”

Byleth sighed. “This is hopeless.”

“Only if you say it is.” He furrowed his brow. He hated when she got like this. At her best, she was a brilliant fighter, able to turn aside any blow anyone could throw her way. He’d seen her disarm even Felix when she bothered to try. He twirled his sword, returning it to a neutral position. “Again.”

Byleth returned to her fighting stance. Caiym rushed forward. He saw the muscles on her right leg twitch, indicating her intent to lead with that leg. He adjusted his momentum, kicking off the ground to pivot to her left instead. She fumbled, turning awkwardly. He pressed his sword point to her back, behind her heart. “That’s a kill.”

“Again!” Byleth screamed. She whirled around, dropping low and sweeping with her leg. Caiym stepped over her kick and placed the edge of his sword on top of her head.

“That’s a kill.” He smiled slightly despite himself. 

Byleth roared in frustration, dropping down to a sitting position. “Do not tease me, brother.”

“No.” He sat beside her. “You’re holding yourself back. Why?”

“I am not,” she retorted. “You are just my better, nothing more.”

“Bullshit.” He stood, glaring. “You’re skilled. You’ve beaten Dimitri. Ferdinand. Felix.  _ Me _ . So why not now?”

“That was all sparring!” she protested.

“So is this.”

“That-”

“-is no different from now. Stop holding back.Give it everything.” 

She stood. Caiym noted a fire in her eyes.  _ Good. _ He took a ready stance. Byleth rushed forward. He made to defend, turning his sword’s tip to her. She ducked under his stab, grabbing his forearm. She planted her palm into his side, hard. As he stepped back, gasping for breath, she drove a knee into his stomach. Unsteady, he took a half-step away, trying to get his blade between himself and his sister. She twisted the arm that held his forearm, causing Caiym to drop his practice sword. She placed her other hand inches away from his head. “I do believe that is a kill,” she said, and relaxed her stance.

“That’s a kill,” he echoed.

* * *

_ That was an utter waste of time, _ Sothis said as Caiym washed himself.  _ What did either of you learn from that, aside from the existence of her self-doubt, something you already knew? _

“It was fun,” he muttered aloud.

_ Fun, was it? Hmph. Hmph I say!  _

_ Shut up. _

_ I will not shut up!  _ He envisioned her stomping her foot.  _ Like it or not, I am here with you. You must simply learn to accept it. _

__ _ Hmph. _

He didn’t have time to waste on humoring her. Though he was short on details, he was aware of the alleged plot on Rhea’s life. Like Edelgard and Hubert, he too suspected it to be a front. Assassins scarcely allowed anyone to carry plans containing their secret assassination plots on their person as they rode into battle. He had ordered his class to ask around regarding possible targets for thieves, and they had narrowed it down to the holy mausoleum, though why thieves would target a bunch of corpses made no sense to him. If they wanted corpses, killing people would be a quicker way to do that.

_ They’re not after the corpses, you absolute buffoon! There must be some sort of treasure within the mausoleum. _

That made a certain kind of sense, he supposed. 

_ Answer me directly, damn you! _

__ Caiym donned his shirt and stepped out into the morning sun. He was not eager to resume teaching, but he supposed he had no real choice. The plot, whatever it ended up being, would not happen until the Rite of Rebirth at the end of the month. He still had two weeks of waiting. He hated waiting. It was why he had never excelled at defense. Waiting for your opponent to strike made no sense to him. It was far more efficient to end the conflict before they could attack, lest you be caught off guard. Byleth had proved that earlier, losing every engagement in which she fought on the defensive, yet winning when she was the one to strike first. 

_ Or maybe, you are just  _ that _ bad at defending yourself. _

__ Caiym walked towards the dining hall, musing to himself about what sweet delight he would eat for breakfast today. Without his sister, Edelgard, or Jeralt around to force the issue, he saw no need to eat anything he didn’t like.

_ Your teeth are going to rot. Besides, I want something spicy. _

__ Whatever he ate, he refused to touch spicy foods. 

_ Stop doing that. _

He stepped into the breakfast line, a few spots behind his sister, browsing again the list of sweet foods, strongly denying the insistent demands from within his own head for spicy foods.

* * *

“Good morning, my teacher,” Edelgard greeted, sitting herself across from Caiym. “I was under the impression you disliked spicy foods?”

“I do,” he grumbled, taking a bite from the spiced meat. “Good morning, Edelgard.”

She stared uncomfortably at his breakfast and pained expression. “I won’t pry, then. I went looking for you this morning, but you were neither in your chambers nor the classroom.”

“I was not.” He apprehensively took another bite. The burning sensation made him wince.

“May I ask where you were?”

As he opened his mouth to reply, Dorothea’s unmistakable voice cut him off from behind him. “Some late-night tryst, perhaps?” She interjected, taking a seat beside Caiym. “You must tell me who the lucky lady is, professor.”

“I was sparring with my sister. What is a tryst?”

Dorothea giggled. “Oh, professor. That faux-ignorance of yours is almost too cute!”

“Okay.”

She frowned at that. “Though you’re really no fun to tease, you know that? Your sister’s reactions are much cuter.”

“Okay.”

Dorothea sighed. “Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I’ve already eaten, and I’ve got to get ready for class. So long, Edie. Professor.” She stood and walked away. Caiym waved, uncertain what he did that had upset her.

“Disregarding that, my teacher, I’d hoped to ask you if you wanted to share tea with me this afternoon, during our lunch period.” Edelgard smiled. “You’ve been here for some time and yet I feel like I still know next to nothing about you. I would very much like to change that.”

“Okay.”  _ Oh, come  _ on! _ Say something else. Anything else! _ “Sure.”  _ You incorrigible, irreconcilable, irredeemable imbecile! _

__ Edelgard’s smile grew. “I’m looking forward to it, my teacher.”

__ * * *

The Black Eagles stood in a line, a lance in each of their hands, save Linhardt, who had nodded off some time ago and lay asleep on the training hall floor. After a particularly sloppy sparring session the day before, Caiym had opted instead to practice basic weapon forms and stances, both as a reprimand for poor performance, and to hammer home that anything could, and should, be a weapon. The class had gone through sword forms, axe forms, and were on the last weapon of the day. He made his way to the head of the line, beginning with Hubert von Vestra.

Hubert stood, body at a slight angle, the lance in his hand angled downward. He’d put in more effort than Linhardt, but just barely.

“Your form is sloppy, Hubert.” Caiym shook his head disapprovingly at the dark-haired man. “Pay more attention to the instructions. If you’re still lost, just look at Ferdinand’s form.”

“Perhaps my form is sloppy because I quite simply do not see a point in training with weaponry when I possess a talent for magic,” Hubert countered, voice dripping with venom and unmasked hostility. 

“Magic will only get you so far. What happens when your magical energy runs dry?”

“All of my enemies are dead, so I presume I return home and celebrate with a nice cup of coffee.” Despite the hostile tone, Hubert’s cold smile never wavered. “Should there be more targets than my magic can cover, well… That is why we have animals like Ferdinand, Caspar, and yourself, no?”

“And what happens when your enemies are capable of countering your spells? Marianne, for example, is strong with antimagic. Should you and she fight, her talent with swordplay would lead to her win.” Caiym’s eyes narrowed. “Or do you think you can’t die?”

“Do  _ you _ ? Your tone is that of one who believes himself superior, is it not,  _ mercenary _ ? I assure you, though your station is that of a professor, regardless of what you think of yourself, you are not my better.”

“As you say.” Caiym stepped away from him. He could still feel Hubert glaring daggers at his back, but so long as the daggers remained metaphorical, he saw no need to do anything. He continued down the line of students. “Ferdinand, good form. Edelgard, you’re improving. Petra, your stance is low. Dorothea, your grip is wide. Caspar, hold it lower, it’s not a fishing pole. Constance, eyes up. Linhardt, wake up.” He paused at Bernadetta. “Bernadetta, your grip is a little too wide. Move your right hand back a little,” he said gently. He had quickly picked up on how not to upset the skittish Varley heir. She reminded him a lot of his sister when she was younger. Bernadetta adjusted her grip. “Very good.” He made an attempt to smile. She blushed, but said nothing. 

“I am terribly sorry if my efforts offend you,” Constance wailed. “Should you see fit to cast me out, I would understand. Looking upon a lowly creature such as me must be infuriating.”

“Not really.”

“You need not flatter me with such words.”

“Okay. Eyes forward.”

Constance nodded, smiling an uneasy, sad smile. Caiym had absolutely no idea how to deal with her. Byleth, at least, had moods other than self-deprecating depression. Constance technically did too, but in sunlight, she was impossible to be around. Something about it triggered a deep, self-loathing despair in her. He wasn’t sure if he preferred this to her manic self when outside of natural light. Both were difficult in their own way.

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang. “That’s that for today. Return your lances to the box. Someone get Linhardt.”

“I got him, professor!” Caspar picked up the unconscious green-haired boy and slung him over his shoulder. “He’s probably just hungry. I’ll get him some lunch!” The class filtered out, though none faster than Dorothea, evidently eager to be away from her classmates. All except Edelgard.

“My teacher,” she said, brushing the hair from her eyes with a sly smile. “Shall we have tea before or after lunch?”

“I’m having sweets for lunch,” he said, picking up Linhardt’s discarded lance and placing it in the box with the others. “We can do both at once.”

She giggled. “Sweets for lunch it is, then.”

* * *

The pair sat in the monastery courtyard, walled off by tall hedges, their table adorned with pastries and candies of various types. The tea before them even smelled strongly of fruit, namely berries. Caiym finished stirring the sixth spoonful of sugar into his cup, then glanced at his companion. Edelgard’s face was difficult to read. She was smiling and playing with her hair, her tea untouched, and her eyes locked on him. He found the staring a little uncomfortable.

“You must be inundated with requests for tea, my teacher,” she said.

“Not really.” He took a sip and frowned. Even with six spoonfuls of sugar, the bitterness of the tea leaves still found its way into the taste. He opened the sugar again and added another three spoonfuls.

“That’s surprising. Many of the ladies here find you quite interesting, or have you not noticed?”

“Do they?” He took another sip. Much better.  _ You are seriously going to have no teeth in a matter of years. _

__ “Why yes, my teacher. They do.  _ I _ do.” She smiled and leaned closer to him. “You are quite fascinating. You show no outward emotion, but your actions demonstrate a remarkable amount of caring and insight. You’re an excellent teacher, and, if I may be so bold, you’re quite handsome.”

“Thank you.” He took another sip. Still a bit too bitter. He added another two spoonfuls.  _ How do you still have teeth?! _

“That’s not idle flattery, my teacher. Your humble background only serves to make you more mysterious.”

“I guess.” This sip was sweet enough, he supposed. He could feel the grains of sugar that hadn’t dissolved on his tongue. Any more sugar and his tea would be more like sludge.

“I can never tell what you’re thinking, really. For example, what do you think of me?” She took a sip of her own tea, savoring the aroma and taste.

“You’re a good student,” he replied. “You’re dependable. Strong.” He took a bite from a cream-filled pastry. “You don’t complain when I eat sweets.”  _ Even if she should! _

“Is that all, my teacher?” Edelgard frowned. “Surely there must be more to it than that.”

“Sorry if I offended you. It was meant as praise. I’m not good with words.” He briefly considered removing the cream from his pastry to dissolve it in his tea, but decided against it. “Byleth likes words more.”

“But it’s not Byleth’s opinion I’m asking. It’s yours.”

“I’m not sure how to give it. You’re… someone I want to protect.”

Edelgard flushed, taken aback. “Want to… protect? I’m quite capable of protecting myself, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why say you want to protect me?” She frowned. “Or is treating me like a child supposed to be endearing?”

Caiym frowned, looking up from his tea. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Edelgards face darkened. “Oh. I see. Well, I must be going. Lunch was… great. I will see you in class, my teacher.” She stormed off. 

Caiym could only stare after her. 

_ Brilliant, _ Sothis chided.

* * *

The sickle moon barely illuminated the clearing before him, but even so, Caiym counted five tents, indicating no more than ten bandits. He moved slowly to quiet his footsteps, sword drawn. With his caution, the bandits couldn’t hear him over their own conversation and their fire. Weapons rested along the sides of tents, against stones, trees, wherever they could be set. A pair of sentries sat almost dead across from Caiym, looking his way, though he doubted they could see him. Even if they could, it didn’t matter. It would only ensure the bandits died armed. It mattered not why these men had preyed upon Remire village, only that they had ruined the sanctity of the place Caiym had once, briefly called home. Their lives were forfeit.

Caiym stopped his approach, stabbing his sword in the ground and drawing his bow. It was the closest he could get before they’d see him for sure. He drew an arrow, pulled back his bowstring. He glanced at the distance between the two sentries. They were close enough to one another. He fired, then fired again as the second sentry turned toward their already-dead companion. The instant the second shot left his bow, Caiym dropped it and picked up his sword. He ran forward, sprinting. The bandit camp roared with shouting, movement, hastily-donned armor. Seven remained. 

Caiym’s speed picked up. He knocked over a tent as he pushed past it, quickly jammed his sword up through the jaw of one of the bandits, tore it out, kicked the body down. 

Six remained.

He drew his dagger, tossed it forward into another bandit’s chest, grabbed the hilt, spun, yanking the blade violently out of the dying brigand. 

Five remained.

Two approached him, one on either side, armed with swords. He parried the first with his dagger, sidestepped the second. He turned on his heel, kicked the bandit to his left back into the fire, ducked forward and pushed his foe down, rolled to the side, and stood.

Four remained.

The remaining sword-wielding man charged Caiym, clumsy, off-balance. He made no effort to dodge, instead stabbing the man’s stomach, twisting the sword, and swinging it out in a wide arc.

Three remained.

The still-living bandits hesitated. Bloodstained, Caiym turned to face them, sword and dagger in hand. One turned to run. His retreat was halted by a dagger to the back of the head. He fell, slid several feet forward, stopped.

Two remained.

A particularly brave, stupid, or angry bandit rushed for Caiym, letting out a roar and hefting an axe. Caiym sidestepped the blow, dropped to a knee, angled his sword, and rose, bisecting the man horizontally.

Only one remained.

The final bandit dropped to his knees. “Please, please don’t kill me!” he begged. He prostrated himself. Caiym looked at him, emotionless. 

“If I don’t, what will you do?” he asked. He approached the bandit, touching the tip of his sword to the man’s head. 

“I’ll… I’ll… I’ll never touch anyone again! I swear it! No more robbing, or killing, or any of that! I swear!”

“Look at me.” The man lifted his face to look Caiym in the eyes. Fear overtook him. He scrambled to his feet, pushed away from Caiym, and made to run. A slice across his back stopped him before he could get going. Caiym finished him off with a stab through the neck.

None remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caiym here is going to be a bit of a more prominent PoV fixture from here on out. Since he's basically the canon version of in-game!Byleth, I figured it'd be unfair to make him secondary. Story is still largely *not* his.  
> Also, for any who might be curious, a fair amount of thought went into his name!  
> "Byleth" is taken from the demon "Beleth," who aided Noah's son Ham in writing a math book for some reason.   
> "Caiym," therefore, comes from the demon "Caim," a demon who appeared as a black bird or a man with a sharp sword. Also comes from the name of the murderhobo protagonist of the first Drakengard game, a quiet man with a sword and a penchant for violence.   
> As an additional fun fact, Byleth's birthday in this story, 3/13, comes from Beleth's number in the Ars Goetia (13), as well as the fact that, to summon Beleth, one must draw a triangle (3) to appease them. Plus, for a depressed character, the 13th (unlucky number) day of the Lone Moon is pretty appropriate!  
> I thought way too much about this, I know.


	4. Peaceful Days I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of a handful of chapters with the same general title. Most of them aren't plot-related, just sidestories featuring different PoV characters from the regular ones. Theme is usually just writing in stuff that doesn't fit the narrative proper, usually just things I want to write for myself. In this chapter:  
> * Hilda, Marianne, and Byleth spill some tea, in both senses of the phrase.  
> * Yuri talks to Ashe about Lonato.  
> * Edelgard tells her side of a story.  
> * Byleth gets a new tablecloth  
> * Dimitri takes matters into his own hands.

#  Chapter Four: Peaceful Days I

“It’s disgusting, is what it is, professor,” Hilda said, pausing to drink her coffee, then leaning back in her chair. “She’s insufferable when she’s in a bad mood.” She and Marianne sat on the opposite side of Byleth’s table, backs to the door, lounging easily in the summer afternoon. Hilda had insisted on trying coffee rather than tea, and Marianne had curiously taken a sip only to reject it in favor of cinnamon tea. An array of cakes, some unfrosted though topped with crumbles of cinnamon, decorated the table. A new, white tablecloth had replaced the one Jeralt had irrevocably stained with ale, though the room still smelled faintly of alcohol, even masked as it was by the scent of pink hyacinth sitting in her window. 

“That’s not fair, Hilda. Everyone has their bad moods.” Marianne took a sip of her tea, keeping one hand on the cup, resting the other in her lap.

“Maybe, but Edelgard is the  _ worst _ .” Hilda sat forward, crossing her legs under the table, perceptible to Byleth only due to the light kicking of her shin.

Byleth hid her smile behind her coffee cup, not wanting to sour Hilda’s mood further. “I would have thought you would be pleased to see your archrival so upset.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, she is  _ not _ my arch-rival. She’s just… someone I can’t stand, I guess.”

“That is a bit strange, Hilda,” Marianne said, glancing up at her pink-haired friend. “You’re usually pretty easy to get along with.”

“I guess? Look, it’s a long, complicated story, and I don’t really want to get into it, but I… I had a bit of a, I don’t know, a fling with her a couple years ago.” Hilda turned her gaze out the window, frowning slightly.

“Y-You did?!” Marianne sputtered, spitting tea onto Byleth’s tablecloth. Byleth sighed. “S-Sorry, professor.”

“Yeah, I know, weird, right?” Hilda smirked, wiping the tea from Marianne’s chin, but notably  _ not _ Byleth’s stained tablecloth. “I was visiting Adrestia with my big brother, oh, two years ago I think? We met and, I don’t know, sparks flew, you know?”

“I-I think so,” Marianne said, blushing. “But why do you hate her now, if you and she were, um, romantically involved?”

Hilda took a large drink of coffee, letting out a small  _ ahh _ as she set the empty cup down. “Oh, you know how it goes. She wanted to keep the relationship going after I went home, I didn’t, she got angry, I got angry, words were said,  _ someone _ threw a punch, and I think that was about that.” 

“Y-You hit her?!” Marianne sputtered again, this time spitting the tea onto Byleth’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, professor!”

“No trouble at all,” Byleth grumbled, grabbing a hand towel out of her desk drawer and wiping her face off.

“Oh, I wasn’t the one who threw a punch, I’m far too delicate for that.” Hilda said with a grin. “I didn’t keep the fight going, and it’s not like she hit me or anything. I’m still pissed, but it’s not really important anymore.”

“I guess so.” Marianne finished the last of her tea, about half of which Byleth guessed must’ve been sprayed around her room. “We should probably be going, Hilda.”

“Oh, true. We have that  _ Golden Deer Strategy Meeting _ or whatever to go to,” Hilda groaned. She stood, stretching. “I don’t even get why Claude has those. We never do anything productive.”

Marianne stood as well. “Thank you for the tea, professor. Um, sorry about your tablecloth…”

“It is fine,” Byleth muttered, staring at the dark brown stain on her formerly-white tablecloth. “Enjoy the meeting.”

* * *

Yuri hated being out of Abyss. He felt exposed somehow under the midday sunlight, and hated being away from his people. Not to mention, the insufferable  _ heat. _ But… it was all worth it for Ashe’s sake.

Yuri and Ashe were never particularly close, but he couldn’t help but like the kid, even seeing him as something of a brother, given their affiliation with House Rowe, and in their few, infrequent interactions, Ashe was certainly a fun kid to talk to. He was sweet, helpful, and his bright, cheery smile was infectious, even bringing a genuine grin to Yuri’s face every once in a while. Hell, even Hapi took a shine to him, and she hated basically everyone. 

Still, for his own sake, he was grateful the trip to Ashe’s room from Abyss was relatively short, just up the ladder and past two rooms. He waved as he passed Professor Byleth, who waved back, evidently trying to towel herself off for some reason. He shrugged and kept walking; her misadventures weren’t his business today. Ashe’s door was closed, which was a good sign. Most of the students left their doors open when they left their room. 

Yuri knocked twice. “Hey kid, you awake? Want to talk?”

“I-I don’t know that I feel like talking right now.” Ashe’s voice cracked. He’d been crying, Yuri could tell.

Yuri leaned forward, resting his arm on the door, his head against it. “You sure? I know the wound’s still fresh, but I’m worried about you, friend. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Ashe paused.

“The door’s unlocked,” he said finally.

Yuri opened the door, stepping into Ashe’s darkened room, uniform with other student dorms and nearly identical to the one Yuri himself had once stayed in: A desk, a dresser, a wall shelf, a terrible wooden chair that hurt to sit on for long periods of time, a single-wide bed on which Ashe lay, beside it, a single bedside table. Stacks of books sat just about everywhere, especially concentrated on the desk and on Ashe’s bedside table. Some were course books, most were old tales of knightly valor, the kind of fantastical trash Yuri had always dismissed as childish and unrealistic. But the kid seemed to like them. Besides the books, it seemed like Ashe had barely decorated his room at all. Yuri closed the door behind him, sitting on the wooden chair, crossing one leg over the other and facing Ashe. The kid’s eyes were red and swollen, and he had barely made the effort to sit up in bed. 

“You look like shit, kid,” he said with a smile.

“I feel like… crud,” Ashe replied. His eyes were downcast, focused on the floor. 

Yuri chuckled. “You really looked up to him, huh?”

“He was like my father. He always had a kind word for me. He basically raised me after my parents…” Ashe shook, evidently fighting to keep from sobbing. Yuri frowned, wishing that someone so honest didn’t feel the need to hide himself or his emotions like this.

Setting aside his reservations, he nodded. “I’m not sure exactly what it is you’re going through right now. But hey, there’s no shame in feeling how you’re gonna feel, okay?”

“But you said you were worried about me,” Ashe said accusingly, shifting his gaze to Yuri, eyes narrowing.

Yuri uncrossed his legs, leaning forward, not backing down from Ashe’s glare. “Of course I’m worried about you. You’re like a kid brother to me. But just because  _ I’m _ worried doesn’t mean you gotta change your entire behavior set, yeah? You’re hurting. Nothing wrong with letting yourself hurt.” Yuri offered a reassuring smile. “Everyone does. Even me.”

Ashe scoffed. “I know everyone hurts, but…” He hugged his knees, turning his eyes away from Yuri again.” I don’t know how to let go of Lonato.”

“Then don’t.”

Ashe froze, reeling somewhat as if struck. He turned to Yuri, confusion and pain in his eyes, tears forming. “What- what do you mean, ‘don’t’?”

“Don’t let him go. You said it yourself, he was like your father. Just because he made a mistake in his last moments doesn’t mean everything he ever did for you was meaningless. He cared for you, and you’re gonna always carry that with you, right alongside what happened at the end. It’d be pretty damn inhuman if you didn’t, yeah?” Yuri stood, sliding the chair back with his foot.

Tears began to fall from Ashe’s eyes again. “I… I…”

“Hey, don’t feel like you have to respond. Take your time, feel better, and when you’re ready, we’ll all be waiting for you.” Yuri ruffled Ashe’s hair. “I’ve got a bit of business down in Abyss, but if you need to talk, feel free to send for me, or head on down yourself.” 

Ashe hugged him, taking Yuri by surprise. “Thank you, Yuri. You’re… you’re a great man.”

“Well, I’m all right,” Yuri replied with a wry grin. “Ah, one thing though. It’s not ‘man’ for me, yeah?” The word had never sat quite right with him for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain.

“Oh, okay. Yeah.” Ashe nodded, putting a hand to his chin. "I guess I can see that.

* * *

Dorothea walked through the monastery grounds, savoring the late summer afternoon air. She relished the idea of having nothing to do this evening. Maybe she would head down to Abyss, pay Yurikins a visit. Or maybe she’d spend some time with Petra, if she could find her. Both possibilities sounded delightful.

As she passed in front of the classrooms, she noticed Edie, standing in front of the Black Eagles room, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and a frown marring her pretty face. Hubie stood inside, apparently talking to Professor Caiym about something.

“You seem to be in a foul mood, Edie,” Dorothea said, pausing her walk. “Want to talk about it, or do you need your space?”

Edie mused a moment, then crossed her arms. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m sorry if my demeanor is causing problems for you.”

“Oh, Edie, that’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t like seeing you upset like this, even if your angry face  _ is _ pretty cute.” Dorothea winked at her.

Edie scowled. “This isn’t the time for flirting, Dorothea,” she snapped, her voice lower than usual. 

“Wow, it’s really serious, huh?” Dorothea turned her body to face Edie. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but maybe some company will help?”

Edie maintained the scowl, which was met by a smile from Dorothea. After a moment, she sighed and softened her face. “I’m really not in the mood to talk, but if you insist. If you  _ must _ know, I ran into Hilda after a particularly bad lunch yesterday.”

Dorothea leaned against the wall beside Edie. “What’s so bad about that? I mean, Hilda can be a little  _ much _ , but she’s mostly harmless unless you’re a guy.”  _ Plus, the way she gets the men here to bend over backwards for her is simply hilarious, _ she added silently.

Edie’s frown returned. “I guess you wouldn’t know. She and I were… well, not quite ‘lovers,’ but certainly more than just friends. It was a little under two years ago. She and her brother were in Adrestia for one reason or another.”

“And the two of you hit it off?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Not immediately anyway; we only interacted at all because Lord Goneril assumed we would get along, being of similar ages. At the time, I wore my hair similar to hers as well.” 

“So when did the sparks fly? I need details, Edie.” Dorothea leaned in closer, as if being even a little bit further away would lead to her missing out.

“They didn’t, really.” Edie hesitated, uncrossing her arms and resting a hand on her chin. “I’d just gone through probably the worst time of my life. Hilda was a much-needed friend and source of comfort for me at my lowest point. I’m not quite sure how quickly my feelings became romantic.”

Dorothea nodded, enraptured. “So what happened next?”

“Well, Hilda was only there for a short time. The night before she and her brother departed, I…” Edie sighed. “Look, I’m not proud, but I begged her to keep in touch with me. She refused, and we argued. I thought she was being too flighty, she thought I was being too needy, and neither one of us would budge. Eventually…” She paused. “Eventually, it nearly came to blows, and that was the end of that.”

“She attacked you?!” Dorothea stood up straight. “Edie, that’s awful! I had no idea she was like that!” 

“Um, not exactly, but-”

“Edie you poor thing! Come on, I’m getting you some sweets from the dining hall.” Dorothea grabbed Edie’s hand and pulled her away from the classroom.

“No, but, Hubert is-” Despite her protests, Edie made no move to resist.

“No excuses, Edie!”

* * *

“I apologize for the trouble,” Byleth said, as Dimitri handed her a stack of towels and a new, dark-colored tablecloth. The two stood just outside her room, the afternoon sun just barely beginning to dip below the horizon, though it still was not quite sunset. “I had no intention of putting you out like this.”

“Think nothing of it, professor!” Dimitri said with a reassuring smile. “I’m only sorry it took so long to get you these.” 

“That is not your fault. It was fairly short notice.” She returned his smile, though fumbled a bit once the laundry was in her hands, not anticipating the weight. She straightened herself quickly and hoped he didn’t notice. “I hardly expected to have tea sprayed at me and all over my room, after all.”

“Yes, that sounds rather unfortunate. Did someone spill their tea or something?”

“Ah-” Byleth hesitated. She had no desire to add any more reasons for anyone to make fun of Marianne, lest someone overhear this conversation, or Dimitri let it slip by mistake. “Yes, something like that, though the fault was mine, certainly. It, ah, it was too hot.”

“I see. Still, you certainly are quite popular if you’re having tea parties in your room, aren’t you?” He laughed, brushing a stubborn lock of blonde hair away from his face.

_ Goddess, that beautiful laugh.  _ Byleth felt her heartbeat skip, though she fought to remain calm outwardly. Her sudden onset of butterflies wasn’t helped by the mounting realization of exactly how heavy the laundry she held was. “Not especially. I mostly have tea with Hilda, Marianne, my father, and my brother. Oh, and sometimes Thea - erm, Dorothea.” 

“Really? That’s surprising. I expected you to have people lining up at your door for a shot at having tea with you. Many students are quite smitten with you, you know.” His eyes remained locked on hers.

_ Does that include you?  _ She blushed, trying to force those thoughts out of her head. Aloud, she said, “Are they? I was unaware.”

“If I had to guess, most are taken in by your looks.” Rather suddenly, Dimitri stiffened a bit, averting his eyes. “Um, not that I meant anything… untoward by that, only that you’re rather eye-catching.” He laughed nervously. “I’ve gone and embarrassed myself again, haven’t I?”

“Not at all.” She did her best to smile warmly, fighting off her rapid heartbeat and deepening blush. “Thank you very much for your help, Dimitri.”

“Any time,” he replied. “Oh, did you want to help me teach the orphans swordsmanship later? I realize the ‘swordsmanship’ part is a little silly, but I still think you’re a good enough teacher to make up for that.”

“I would love to, Dimitri.”

“I look forward to it, then!” He smiled and gave a short wave. “Good evening, professor!”

“Yes, good evening.” Byleth stepped into her room, closing the door behind her. She clutched at her chest, trying to will her heartbeat to slow, but to no avail.

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

Dimitri exhaled as he brought himself up to a sitting position from the floor, knees bent. He held the position for a five-count, then lowered himself again. He wasn’t sure why he had taken the time this evening to exercise. He’d had a burst of energy for reasons he couldn’t quite identify, ever since he’d spoken with Byleth -  _ Professor  _ Byleth, he corrected himself - earlier that afternoon. Her dress, wet with tea, if what she told him was accurate, clung a bit more tightly to her chest. He’d always known she was beautiful, but he had found himself unable to keep from staring. He wasn’t uncertain if it was a fold in her dress, but he was fairly certain he could see the outline of her nipple beneath her top… 

_ Stop it, Dimitri _ , he chided himself. He resumed his exercising, rolling onto his stomach to do push-ups. Even as he did, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to her. He’d caught glimpses of her underwear here and there in training, given her propensity to kick and the scant fabric of her dress. He found himself imagining her body beneath the dress, not that it was too difficult given how little it covered. He focused on the sway of her hips as she walked, the motion of her breasts as she fought, the curve of her body…

Before he knew it, Dimitri found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping his cock with his right hand, stroking himself furiously. He imagined the sensation of burying his face between her thighs, of tonguing her, imagined the soft gasps and moans she would release, the sensation of sliding himself into her wet slit, of kissing her quivering lips, the softness of her breast and butt in his hands, the feeling of her legs around his body as he thrust again and again into her, the sensation of releasing into her, the quivering of her body as she orgasmed along with him, the feeling of her warm breath on his neck and her nails on his back. He moaned, climaxing into his hand. 

He lay there, panting, briefly, before realizing his predicament. He had no desire to sleep with his semen covering his hand, but also, he was hesitant to step out towards the bathhouse as he was. He supposed he must suffer the consequences and bathe. Using his left hand, he pulled his slacks back up, then wrapped his right, hastily, in a hand towel. He grabbed a shirt from his rack and left his room, walking quietly down the hall so as not to wake anyone. He crept down the stairs from the noble’s dormitory to the monastery grounds. As he did, he nearly walked right into Sylvain, who was also quietly sneaking around that night.

“Oh! Your highness! I uh. Hi there. Hey.” It took no time at all for him to adopt his carefree smile. “Heading out for the night? Hey, what happened to your hand?” 

“Ah, this? I. Uh. Well, I cut it. On. Uh. I cut it on a sharp… thing. A thing that’s sharp.” Dimitri kicked himself. There was no way he would believe that.

“Oof, sounds painful. Do you want help getting to Manuela? Or should we wake up Mercie or Byleth?”

“Ah! No, no thank you, Sylvain. Uh. I’m actually… going to bathe first. To. Uh. Clean the wound.”

“Don’t they have to do that at the infirmary? Last I checked, bathing it in the bathhouse would make it worse.”

Dimitri flushed, grateful for the darkness making it difficult to see his face. “I. I suppose. But, uh, Dedue suggested that I clean it first.”

“Huh. I thought he would be a bit more responsible than that.”

“He uh. He was. It’s a very specific cut.” Dimitri laughed nervously.

“Sure it is. Look, I have no idea what you’re hiding, but you can trust me, your highness. I’m still your friend.” He winked. 

“I ah. I appreciate that, Sylvain. It’s nothing, really. I’m just. I’m going to go bathe now.”

* * *

“Dimitri, are you even listening?” Byleth asked sternly, tapping her hand on her desk. Sylvain grinned a sly grin, clearly trying to suppress laughter.

“I- Yes, professor. Sorry, professor.” Dimitri hung his head.

Byleth resumed her lecture. “As I was saying, the true difficulty in laying siege comes primarily from the drain on manpower for the attackers as mercenaries and conscripts depart, the limited supplies for the defenders, and morale on both ends. Sieges are hardly a glamorous engagement, but they are rather useful for capturing walled cities or fortresses.”

“That’s pointless. Why not just march your soldiers out to meet the enemy instead of hiding away in a fortress like a coward?” Felix leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“Siege warfare favors the defenders more often than not, Felix, provided their supplies are high enough. Sometimes, when their resources are running low, the defender  _ will _ in fact march out to meet their enemy, if that seems more likely to bring victory than a prolonged siege.” Byleth smiled. “So you are not wrong, but it is not quite cowardice, it is strategy.”

“If I were in command, there’s no way I’d lock myself behind a wall. It’d be a waste of my time,” Felix said.

“But you will not always be the one in command, Felix. For example, if someone were to lay siege to Garreg Mach, you would be one soldier among many. Knowing the ins and outs of siege warfare might save your life.”

“Who the hell would try to seize the monastery?” Sylvain cut in. “You’d have to be downright megalomaniacal to think you could.”

“That would be why I said ‘for example.’ The terrain here favors the defenders more than usual, and the Knights of Seiros are renowned throughout Fódlan for their skill and fighting prowess. It would take quite a prolonged siege indeed to capture Garreg Mach, and really only one of the major nations would even have a chance at doing so.” Byleth indicated her diagrams on the chalkboard behind her. “However, Garreg Mach’s defenses do make for good education regarding siege warfare. Everyone, take out a sheet of paper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might honestly be the last chapter I post for a while. Not that I'm out of backlog, I've got 8 more chapters done as it is, but I'm honestly feeling like this is a waste of everyone's time, given I'm not very good at writing? I dunno. We'll see. Probably just my self-hatred talking.  
> Hope you enjoy anyway ❤


	5. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Caiym confront the western church in the Holy Mausoleum, after which, she overhears a conversation she really shouldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter:  
> *Self-harm   
> *Self-loathing  
> *Mention of past sexual assault (no explicit details)  
> The section that contains it will be marked, tho do let me know if doing so (and marking the sex scenes) is distracting! I'm trying to be accommodating to everyone but I'm not sure how to go about that.

#  Chapter Five: Envy

They arrived too late.

Soldiers and hooded men, presumably mages, filled the surprisingly-vast mausoleum interspersed among the sarcophagi and pillars on the stony floor, along with a strangely-armored knight carrying a scythe and adorned in a skull mask. One mage stood near the back above a large sarcophagus, preparing some sort of ritual. The knight’s head perked up at the sound of the Black Eagles and the Eisner siblings entering the room.

“Ferdinand, left side. Caspar, right. Edelgard, with Caspar. Bernadetta, stay behind Edelgard. Sister, with Ferdinand. The rest of you, stand ready, move where needed. Await further orders.” Caiym sheathed his sword and drew his bow instead. He took aim at the knight, nocking an arrow and drawing slowly. He let out a slow, steady exhale and released the bowstring. As the arrow rocketed towards the knight, he tossed his bow to the ground and drew his sword once more, following his shot with a charge, intending to catch the knight off guard. As he ran, he saw the knight’s head tilt, almost imperceptibly, out of the path of the arrow. Undeterred, Caiym kicked off the ground into a leap, slashing downward vertically with his blade.

“Foolish,” the knight growled, his voice echoing ominously under his horned, skull-shaped helmet. He snapped his scythe upward, faster than Caiym could react or anticipate, then turned it aside, deflecting the mercenary into a pillar. Caiym rolled with the impact and stood, shakily.

“Brother!” Byleth called out. She pivoted towards him, away from the soldiers Ferdinand and Hubert were engaging. 

“Don’t!” Caiym warned, but she paid no heed. Byleth spun her hand, creating a small circle of fire beneath the knight. He stepped out of it easily and in an instant, faster than she could even blink, he stood before her. 

“Perhaps you will be an entertaining partner,” he said, bringing his wicked scythe to a ready position. Byleth leapt back, quickly flinging a fireball at him in an attempt to gain distance. As she moved, Caiym rushed the knight again, this time with his sword tip-first, intending to stab, hoping to at least catch his attention. The knight swung his scythe in a circular motion, forcing Caiym to adjust his momentum and parry, throwing him off balance. Byleth wasn’t so lucky.

“Wha-” she managed as the scythe’s blade tore through her flesh, staining the ground before her with blood. Her eyes widened in shock, and she dropped to her knees as the knight raised his scythe, decapitating her with a single strike.

“Perhaps not,” he noted.

Everything stood still for a moment, then reality itself crumbled away, like nothing ever happened.

“Brother!” Byleth called out. She pivoted towards him, away from the soldiers Ferdinand and Hubert were engaging. 

“Don’t!” Caiym warned, but she paid no heed. Byleth made to cast a spell, and in a panicked fit of desperation, Caiym tossed his sword at the knight, who deflected it easily. However, the distraction had done its job: the knight was off-balance and unable to retaliate against Byleth’s spellcasting. The flame erupted around him, and he roared defiantly.

“Dorothea, follow up! Hubert, keep my sister alive!” A sword erupted point-first from Caiym’s chest.  _ Let’s try that again, _ Sothis muttered.

“Dorothea, follow up! Hubert, keep my sister alive!” Caiym ducked under the swordsman’s arm, grabbing it and yanking the screaming man over his head. He stomped on the man’s neck, crushing his windpipe, then rolled to his feet, snagging the now-discarded sword from the ground. As he regained his footing, he saw a jet of black miasma dart forward at the knight from the area his sister, Ferdinand, and Hubert were occupying. By process of elimination, Hubert had cast it. Immediately, it was followed up by an arc of lightning from Dorothea, who darted away behind a pillar before the knight could react.

Shockingly, the towering knight roared with laughter. “Very good!” he shouted, regaining his neutral posture. “You are all quite eager to die, but at least you make for fine sport.” He started to take a step forward and Caiym was already before him, swinging with his sword at the knight’s chest. The knight turned Caiym’s sword aside with his hand, the way Byleth often did. He followed up with a jab with the butt of his scythe, seeking to push Caiym away. Caiym leaned into the attack, taking a hit but retaliating by grabbing one of the knight’s horns and yanking his head to the side. Caught off guard, the knight toppled to the ground. Caiym leapt atop him, raising his sword, then bringing it down quickly at the man’s neck.

The knight flung him off with the ease of swatting a gnat, then pushed himself to his feet. Byleth and Dorothea launched twin bolts of lightning at him, intending to at least slow his rise, but he seemed insurmountable. He stood to his full height and swung his scythe in a wide arc, discouraging any approach. Caiym rolled under the attack, stabbing towards the knight’s midsection. The knight sidestepped, then brought the handle of his scythe forward, pushing Caiym back. The sword he’d taken from the still-choking soldier clattered to the ground as he staggered backwards. The knight didn’t relent, pushing forward, forcing Caiym on the defensive.

Exactly as Caiym had planned.

Using the knight’s overconfidence against him, he feigned desperation as he quickly drew a dagger from a concealed sheath on his lower back and drove it into the knight’s side, eliciting a roar of shock. Capitalizing on this, Caiym planted his hands on the knight’s scythe and pushed, releasing as the momentum carried the knight backwards, causing him to stumble. Caiym stepped forward and drew the dagger out of the man’s side, twisting it as he did, drawing forth another growl of pain. Before Caiym could follow up, the knight vanished in a jet of purple light. Caiym’s eyes darted around the mausoleum. Ferdinand, Hubert, and Petra were finishing off their opponents, a swath of half-melted and impaled corpses in their wake, along with a few with barely-visible stab wounds, likely Petra’s handiwork. Caspar, Edelgard, and Bernadetta left a similarly grisly battlefield on their end, with dismembered and bisected bodies indicating Edelgard’s massive axe, and a few unconscious or clearly dead men covered with bruises, clearly taken down by Caspar. Arrows studded a few of the bodies. Byleth and Dorothea flanked Caiym, also scouring the area for the knight. Constance stood over a trio of bodies, evidently reinforcements that had sought to stab them in the back as Caiym was locked in battle with the knight. Linhardt had stayed largely stationary, healing the others as needed. However, amidst the death and chaos of the battlefield, there was no sign of the knight. More pressingly, the mage at the far end seemed to be close to completing whatever it was he was doing.

Without a word, forced to assume the knight was gone, Caiym sprinted forward, pausing briefly to pick up a sword. As the mage pushed the sarcophagus open, Caiym tossed his sword that way. The mage took something from within and clumsily deflected with it, dropping the object in the process. Caiym picked up the sword-like object -  _ We call that a sword, usually,  _ Sothis interjected - and studied it briefly. It was large, and had a texture not unlike bone. It began to glow at his touch. With a slight shrug, Caiym swung it at the mage, who quickly manifested a shield in a desperate attempt to block. It wasn’t enough. With the slightest exertion of force, Caiym cut the man apart at the shoulder.

Byleth fought to gather herself as her brother turned to face her. His face and his clothes were bloodstained, though the strange sword he carried was pristine, unsullied. Or, almost unsullied. Byleth watched as a thin line of red along the edge eroded in a matter of seconds, as though the blade were drinking it. “Any casualties?” he asked, his voice unshaken by the gruesome scene before him and betraying no exhaustion from his brawl with the masked knight.

“None on our side,” Hubert answered with a sinister smirk. “Complete annihilation on theirs, I’m afraid.” 

“Yeah, we crushed ‘em!” Caspar shouted exuberantly. “No one makes it past me!”

Ferdinand rested himself on his lance. Even stained red as he was, he still looked every inch the cocky nobleman, with a disgustingly self-assured smile and his feathery, clearly-shampooed hair. “I would not hesitate to call this a complete victory,” he said. “Though it is only natural that I, Ferdinand von Aegir, would be on the winning side!”

Byleth choked back vomit.

“Forgive me if I do not have the correct understanding, but are you meaning that you had intentions to switch sides should the battle turn against us? That seems rather… hm.” Petra paused, thoughtful. “That seems to not be noble behavior, I am thinking.”

Ferdinand balked. “No, I-I was not saying that at all! Only that my presence on our side was a key point to our victory. As the very pinnacle of nobility itself, it is a given that I would be a truly formidable opponent for any foe!”

“That so?” Dorothea called, pointedly looking away from the gruesome scene. “Then why weren’t you over here, fighting that… skull knight?”

“I was… merely allowing the professor to demonstrate his own skills! I did not want to be the sole center of attention after all.”

“Of course, Ferdinand. That sounds rather sensible,” Edelgard replied with a condescending smile. “The  _ noblest of nobles _ not wanting to steal the entire spotlight makes perfect sense.”

“Please just be quiet,” Linhardt groaned from behind Byleth. “Honestly, the casual demeanor after a fight like this is almost sickening.”

Caiym stepped forward, resting the odd sword on his back. “Good job, everyone.”

* * * CW: Self-Harm / Sexual Assault Mention * * *  


Byleth walked slowly through the upper floors of the monastery, enjoying once more the old stonework and vaguely-ethereal feeling of the hallways. She’d only come here to bring Seteth his book of unfinished fables she’d found the other day, but she found herself appreciating the walk anyway. The echoing music from the chapel’s organ added a faintly melancholic atmosphere to the environment, a serene air only broken by the priests milling about in the narrow halls, encroaching on her solitude, a single black spot on an otherwise perfect afternoon. 

A little more than a week had passed since the battle in the holy mausoleum. Byleth hadn’t thought much of it, though she had noted she was excluded from the debriefing. Perhaps that had been for the best; after all, she had been a last-minute addition to her brother’s roster rather than part of the planning for his scheme, as she happened to wander by on her way to eat lunch as he and his unit prepared their ambush. Still, she couldn’t help but feel excluded, especially since Rhea had simply  _ given _ her brother the legendary Sword of the Creator. Meanwhile, Byleth couldn’t remember the last time Rhea had so much as  _ spoken _ to her. Though she supposed she was pretty thoroughly unspecial compared to Caiym. Her brother bore the long-lost Crest of Flames. He had a title, the Ashen Demon. People feared him and respected him. And she’d noticed the way many of the students looked at him, as though standing before a legendary hero, like the great Saint Seiros herself had been reincarnated within her brother. She hated it. She wanted it.

_ No, Byleth. Stop that, _ she chastised herself. This mounting envy towards her brother was something she couldn’t afford. And besides, she’d been in a good mood until that thought crept into her head, a mood she wanted to hold onto.

“... just don’t think she’s cut out for this, Captain Jeralt.” A muffled boyish voice broke her concentration, coming from her father’s office, the door to which Byleth had just passed. It took a moment for Byleth to recognize it as Leonie’s.

“You might be right,” Jeralt replied, his words slightly slurred, belying his intoxication. “She was shaken up really bad after that rebellion.”

_ Are they… talking about me? _ Byleth paused. She put her ear to the closed door. She felt ashamed of the action, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“It’s not just that. She does okay with the lectures and leading drills, but I’ve heard she’s basically useless in a fight. Plus, a few of the guys have said she tends to, uh, stare at them,” Leonie said casually. “I guess she’s gotten a reputation almost as bad as Manuela’s.”

“Does she? Hm. I’ll have to have a talk with her about that,” Jeralt replied, uncomfortably. “Ahh, you know, Rhea didn’t even want to offer her the teaching gig.”

“Really? That’s surprising. She was pretty enthusiastic to hire Professor Caiym. Why not Byleth?”

“No idea. I had to beg to get her the position.” He chuckled. “I dunno. I don’t want to be too hard on the girl. It’s basically my fault she never had a childhood. Both of them, really.”

“They were pretty weird, even back when you were staying in Sauin. Though she was much quieter back then,” Leonie said. “I guess  _ he _ hasn’t changed much at all. He’s still quiet and pretty weird.”

Jeralt laughed again. “You can say that again. Kid claims he hates spicy food, but half the time I see him in the dining hall, that’s what he’s got on his plate, looking miserable.” Byleth could hear the warm smile in his voice. “I’d guess he does it ‘cause he always looked up to Byleth when they were really little, and she loves her extra-spicy curry.”

“That’s kinda cute, in its own way.” Byleth heard something creak, and her heart stopped for a moment, believing herself to be caught. However, Leonie continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Honestly, I think they should’ve been enrolled as students or added to the knights, not made teachers. I don’t think either one of them is really the best at it.”

“No, I guess not. Lady Rhea wouldn’t budge with hiring Caiym, though I guess it might be too much for Byleth. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard to get her involved, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her being left out. She’s a really fragile girl, all things considered. It can be a bit burdensome at times.”

_ Burdensome.  _ Byleth tore herself from the door, tears streaming down her face. She ran away, down the stairs and across the courtyard to her bedroom. She slammed her door shut, locked it, and threw herself onto her bed, sobbing. 

_ Useless. Burden. Worthless. Good-for-nothing. Waste of space. _

She repeated the words to herself, over and over again, like a mantra, digging her fingernails into her left arm until she felt her skin break. 

She’d always known she was useless. Since she was a girl, she’d known she was just a drain on her father. She’d tried, she really had, to be useful, but her poor vision and weak body hindered any attempts she’d made at being helpful. She could barely see a foot in front of her without her glasses, which she’d only worn in the last three years or so. Before that, she had…

She’d called it “busywork” to distract herself from the horrible reality of it: she’d sold her body to men for gold and gifts, spurred on by a drunken assault from one of her father’s soldiers and the coins he’d left behind to silence her. She wasn’t proud of that, in fact she hated herself for it, but she’d made enough gold to at least ease the burden she’d put on her father and brother, always keeping vague about how she’d earned it, usually half-lying about doing odd jobs for people in the villages where they were staying. Caiym was always suspicious but never said anything.

Until he did.

She’d taken a request during one of her father’s jobs in Enbarr, about two years before they’d come to the monastery. The Prime Minister himself had hired her, though not specifically; he’d sent a proxy to deal with the details of the transaction, and was evidently just looking for anyone to suit his needs as “arm candy” during a party, and as an outlet afterward. She’d been unable to hide the bruises he’d given her, and so had confessed to her brother when he pushed her for answers. She begged him not to tell their father, and Caiym had reluctantly obliged so far, though in return he’d commanded her to stop. And so she had.

She’d begun teaching herself magic and learning martial arts, hoping to style herself into a mercenary like her father and brother. Her body was relatively frail, but she’d found that, by charging a little magic into herself, she was able to move and strike much like her father and brother could, faster and stronger even, when she tried. She’d hoped that would be enough to make her useful to them. The position teaching at Garreg Mach, too, had made her feel wanted for the first time in her life.

Which was probably why this hurt so much.

She  _ wasn’t _ wanted. She was still a burden. She was still useless. Worse than useless, if what Leonie said about her reputation was true. She dug her nails into her arm again, lower this time. The blood from her previous wounds trickled down and mixed with her fresh ones. She focused on the pain, focused on the sensation of bleeding, the sting of her cuts, everything she could to intensify the pain. She deserved this.

After a few minutes, she heard a rough knock on her door. “Professor?” The voice, rough and gravelly but caring and kind, was unmistakably Dedue’s. “I heard crying. Are you okay?” Byleth didn’t answer. “Professor. I’m worried about you.”

Of course he was. She was just a burden to everyone. Weak. Fragile.  _ Useless. _ She took a moment to calm herself. She repeated her meditative stretching twice, inhaling deep and exhaling to steady her breathing. After a few seconds, it would be like she’d never been crying at all. “I am quite sorry to worry you, Dedue. I am fine, however. You, ah, misheard my exercising as sobbing, that is all.”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, though despite the brevity of his response, his voice remained compassionate. “I just want to make sure you’re not hurt.”

Byleth glanced at her bloody arm.  _ Too late,  _ she thought. Aloud, she said, “I assure you, I am quite all right.”

“No, you aren’t. But it’s clear you won’t talk.” He paused. “His highness cares about you. And I do too.” 

“I am fine,” she replied again. “But thank you for your concern.” When she heard the last of his heavy footsteps draw away from her door, she collapsed onto her bed and started sobbing again, crying until eventually, exhaustion took hold.

* * *

“Sister.” 

Byleth turned lazily. Her brother knocked again, three rhythmic hits against her door. “Wake up. There’s a faculty meeting.”

Byleth sat up, grimacing as a jolt of pain shot through her still-bloody arm. “One moment, brother,” she responded. “I need to dress.”

“Fine. I’ll wait.”

She stood and grabbed a bandage from her desk drawer. She dipped it in the water she’d set aside for her coffee, left unused from the day before, and cleaned the blood from her wound quickly. She then wrapped another bandage around the cuts, concealing them more than stopping the bleeding. With that done, she adjusted her dress, straightening it out, unlocked her door, and opened it.

Caiym stood directly in front of her, blocking the doorway. His face was expressionless at first, though his eyes darted to her arm immediately. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“No cause for concern, brother,” she interrupted before his interrogation got uncomfortable. “I scraped myself on a doorway yesterday, nothing more.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sister. You’re hurting yourself again.”

“I-” she began, but he cut her off.

“You’re hurting yourself again,” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. “You promised to stop. Do your promises mean nothing?”

“Brother, I-”

“No, Byleth. Listen to me. You think you’re a burden. You think you only hinder us. You’re right. You are a burden.” Her eyes widened. She could feel the tears welling in them again, could feel a sickness rising in her stomach. “But only when you get like this. Only when you hurt yourself. Only when you  _ make _ yourself a burden. You keep trying to be someone you’re not. And then when you fail, you hurt yourself. Instead of growing, instead of changing, you just hurt yourself, and nothing changes. I hate it.” Her brother paused for a moment, then stepped forward and hugged her, taking her aback. “I swore to protect you from anyone that would hurt you. That includes you.”

Byleth fought back tears. “Broth- Caiym. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He let her go, wiping a tear from her face. “Come on, sister. We’re already late.”

The pair walked together through the dark early-morning air to the chapel, Caiym slowing his usually-swift pace to keep Byleth nearby. She stewed on Caiym’s lecture. He was right, of course; he was always right. Her father had called her “fragile,” and she couldn’t disagree. She didn’t have her father or brother’s thick skin, physically or emotionally. She wasn’t especially strong when not enhancing herself with magic, and she wasn’t as well-trained as either of them. 

_ Maybe she’s just not cut out for this _ , Leonie’s voice echoed in her head.  _ Maybe I’m not, _ Byleth agreed. 

Even so, she enjoyed teaching. Maybe she was as uncomfortable to be around as Manuela, but she took genuine pride in her students’ accomplishments. Not just the Blue Lions, but everyone. They all made amazing progress, and seeing them all smile and gain confidence as they learned and overcame challenges was an incredible feeling. She found herself smiling as she thought about them. Ignatz’s bright expression as he mastered a tricky sword maneuver. Annette’s boundless optimism and cheerfulness even as she struggled with more difficult problems. Caspar’s earnestness and eagerness to grow and become stronger. Raphael’s infectious laughter. Even Hilda put in effort when Byleth managed to catch her interest. And Dimitri...

Her musing ceased as she and her brother approached the chapel, pushing open the double doors. Within, Rhea stood at the altar and Manuela, Hanneman, Seteth, Jeritza, and Jeralt sat in the pews as Cyril scrubbed the floors. Manuela and Hanneman looked very intently away from one another. Seteth seemed to be nodding off periodically. Jeritza nursed a wound on his side. Catherine and Shamir stood, whispering something to one another. Alois stood beside Jeralt, chuckling quietly, likely at one of his own puns.

Rhea smiled warmly at the two of them, locking eyes with Caiym. Byleth offered a short wave as a greeting, which Rhea returned with a curt nod.

“Very well. Now that we are all gathered, I would like to discuss a few things with you,” Rhea began. “First of all, Seteth and I have received a number of student complaints regarding improper maintenance of the training hall and other high-activity areas. Broken training weapons are to be brought in for repair immediately, rather than simply left for the next class to deal with.” Byleth’s class certainly hadn’t broken any weapons lately, not since the last time Dimitri had shattered an axehead after an unlucky flare from his crest. She glanced at Caiym, who frowned, then at Manuela, who was scowling. “Secondly, Professor Caiym. Your house’s mission for this month is a simple one. You are to venture to Remire village and act as bodyguards for a merchant caravan there as they conduct their business. I expect no trouble, but a routine mission like this one will be good practice for students like Caspar. Byleth, your house is on monastery patrol. Manuela, your house is on punitive trash duty again.” Manuela groaned. “I will hear no complaints. Claude’s poisoning of the kitchen staff cannot go unpunished, to say nothing of Lorenz’s harassment of the noble women. Lastly, House Gautier has requested the church’s aid with a political matter. In pursuit of peace between the regions, a diplomatic function is to be held between Margrave Gautier and one of the lords of Sreng. They have requested a translator and an attachment of knights be sent to ensure the function proceeds smoothly, and we are to fulfil that, as surrogate rulers of the kingdom.”

_ Sreng? _ Byleth knew the region well enough. She’d studied their culture out of a mild fascination, going as far as to learn their language as much as she could. She would hardly call herself a fluent  _ speaker _ , but she’d learned to read it in order to actually understand the books in their language she’d picked up.

“As of this moment,” Rhea continued, “I will likely send Tomas as translator.”

“Lady Rhea,” Byleth interrupted, surprising even herself. “I would like to volunteer.”

* * *

“You are certain of this?” Seteth sat across from Byleth in his small office, idly tapping a quill against his cluttered desk. Byleth nodded, her eyes locked on the spines of the various books behind him, all with titles she’d never seen before. She wanted to pick up and read each one in order, though Seteth was always hesitant to loan out his personal collection.

“I cannot deny your understanding of the Sreng tongue is… well, to call it ‘remarkable’ is underselling it, given your young age and the life you led prior coming here, what little I know of it.” He brought a hand to his chin, stroking his thin beard. “But are you certain you wish to venture out alone, to an unfamiliar territory, to act as translator for a political meeting? That is quite a lot of pressure, professor. Are you up to the task?”

She frowned. “Of course I am up to the task! Translation is one area in which I am confident. And besides,” she said, meeting Seteth’s intense stare with her own, hoping she looked as determined as she felt, “I am quite set on this.” He said nothing, but maintained eye contact. “I am not a child,” she finished flatly.

Seteth stared for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose you are not,” he conceded. “Very well. I shall inform Lady Rhea that you have my blessing to be sent as translator.”

* * *

Byleth tossed a bag containing her dress and a few other changes of clothes into the supply wagon, shivering slightly in the cold, late-summer morning air. She’d traded out her favorite flowing garment for a more practical travelling outfit consisting of black slacks, leather boots, a travelling coat, and an undershirt that was just small enough to be annoying, though she had few other options in that department. She made her way to the center of the line of horses, to the wagon she’d requested, given her lack of confidence in horseback riding. She, along with about ten knights, who stood a distance away preparing their own supplies, were to set out that day for the far-north lands of house Gautier, a journey that would take roughly a week. And she was to act as translator and overseer to an important meeting.

The thought of it made her heartbeat quicken. She was important! She was useful! After her brother’s lecture the day before, Byleth had resolved herself to cease being a millstone to those around her, however she could manage. Unlike her brother, she wasn’t a skilled combatant. She would have to accept that. But this was something she could do! The thought of it was exciting to her in ways she couldn’t begin to explain.

_ And besides, _ she thought,  _ being away from the monastery might help me sort out these disgusting thoughts of mine.  _ She had no idea what was causing them. She’d been somewhat lustful before, but had only used romance novels as an outlet, never thoughts of other people. Perhaps it was this newfound community that had brought out this horrid side of her. Whatever the reason, she knew it had to end, and quickly.

“Professor!” a deep, smooth voice called. She glanced back and saw Dimitri, Dedue, Hilda, Marianne, and Thea walking towards her, with Ingrid, Felix, and a yawning Sylvain in tow. “So you have made up your mind to go, then, despite my pleas?” Dimitri smiled despite his bitter-sounding words.

“Of course she has,” Thea said with a bright expression. “Once a woman puts her mind to something, no one can stop her. Right, professor?” Thea winked.

“I suppose,” Byleth replied, turning to face her students. “Did all of you come to see me off, then?”

“Yep! That’s right!” Hilda grinned, rushing to hug Byleth, who returned the affectionate gesture. “The monastery won’t be the same without you around, right, Marianne?”

“M-Me? Um, well, I’ll certainly miss you, and I’ll miss having tea in your room. You’ve been a great friend, professor.” Marianne’s smile was just visible on her downcast face.

“I could say the same to you,” Byleth said with a smile of her own. She offered a hug to Marianne, and to her surprise, the shy girl accepted, hugging her somewhat meekly.

“I must express disappointment that you won’t be around to teach us for the next two weeks,” Ingrid said, looking troubled. “It won’t feel right without our professor around, and no one goes quite as in-depth with the material as you do.”

Thea laughed. “Oh, Ingrid, just say how you really feel! You wouldn’t shut up about how much you were going to miss her on the walk here!”

Ingrid practically jumped, turning as red as a beet. “D-Dorothea! That’s…”

“It’s true, professor,” Sylvain said with another yawn, stretching his arms behind his head. He smiled flirtatiously. “You know, you even find a way to look cute in a plain outfit like that. I like it.”

Felix rolled his eyes, smacking Sylvain gently on the back of the head, then crossed his arms. “Hurry back. Of all the professors here, I find your lectures the least boring.”

“Coming from you, that’s a pretty heartfelt compliment, Felix,” Sylvain said with a smirk, clearly missing the warning Felix had given. “I am a bit surprised they’re not sending me though. After all, you’re going to my homeland for something pretty important. But I guess my father and Lady Rhea expect me to make a mess of it somehow.”

“You would,” Felix replied, a sardonic grin creeping onto his face.

Byleth couldn’t help but giggle at the scene in front of her.

Dimitri stepped forward. “H-Here, professor. Take this with you.” He handed her a silver necklace, engraved with the Faerghus coat of arms. “I-It’s something to remember me, uh, remember  _ us _ by.”

Byleth smiled. “I am only going to be gone for two weeks, Dimitri.”

He blushed, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. “I know, but even so. I didn’t want you to think we wouldn’t miss you.”

She put the necklace on. Her heart fluttered. She ignored her inner protests. “Thank you Dimitri. I appreciate the effort you have all put forth, and-”

Hilda cut her off with a sudden, second hug. “Good luck, professor. We’ll  _ have _ to get tea when you get back, okay?”

“We will. You have my word.” 

“Professor, we are ready to depart,” one of the knights called, interrupting her goodbyes. Byleth waved to her students and climbed into the wagon, her hand clutching the necklace Dimitri had given her, a smile across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to keep posting!  
> Also, I realize the mission surrounding Miklan is super different from the game's plot. Sorry if that bugs you! I kinda wanted to change a few scenes/elements to better fit the story I wanted to tell.


	6. Peaceful Days II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another frivolous, largely-story free chapter IN WHICH:  
> * Felix does a lot of sitting around, thinking 'bout stuff  
> * Yuri gives Dorothea a tongue-lashing  
> * Dimitri and Claude have a friendly chat  
> * Ashe and Hapi read stories together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's mostly just unimportant fluff used to divide Byleth's departure from the actual conflict with Miklan, hopefully pacing things out?  
> Also a HUGE thank you to the two of you who've commented and everyone who's left kudos. It really means a lot! ❤ ❤ ❤

#  Chapter Six: Peaceful Days II

Felix was angry. That wasn’t unusual, but his aggravation was a bit more intense than normal. Sylvain was frustrating him more than ever. The Boar Prince always frustrated him in general. Ingrid made it substantially worse. And Seteth, who had stepped in to instruct the class in Byleth’s stead, was horrible at breaking up their fights. It was nauseating to be around. 

He didn’t want to admit he missed Byleth. She could be just as infuriating as the others at times, with her bouts of sadness and tendency to stare at the Boar. But… she was kind, genuine, and hardworking. She put her students first more often than not, and taught them according to their strengths and weaknesses better than he’d anticipated when he’d first seen the Eisner siblings. She was fun to spar with, although her energy in sparring matches seemed to vanish in actual combat, he noted with disappointment. But she covered her lack of combat ability with her helpfulness around the monastery. He’d run into her tending the flowers in the greenhouse, smiling that sweet, serene smile of hers, or cleaning the training ground floor alongside Cyril, despite the young Almyran’s protests. And she could  _ sing _ . He’d only heard her in choir practice once or twice, but her voice captivated him. He found himself wanting to be around her more and more, flaws and all. 

Which was why he avoided her outside of class and seldom spoke to her. For one thing, he had no desire to pursue a relationship, quite unlike that sex fiend Sylvain, and for another, he had no intention of becoming the drooling simplton the Boar became around her.

He shook his head. Thinking about any of this was a waste of time. It was his day to water the plants. After that, he supposed he might go to the training hall. Perhaps Jeritza had recovered from the wound on his side, or Caiym would finally be willing to spar with him. In the meantime, Felix made his way to the greenhouse. He paused at the entrance. He heard a familiar voice, singing to herself. He made to enter but, remembering her angry reaction the last time he’d caught Annette singing, opted instead to sit down outside, listening to her song. Unconsciously, he found himself smiling. He could picture her dancing in time with the lyrics and wanted nothing more than to watch her performance, though he knew doing so would just provoke another angry outburst.

_ You’re evil, Felix! I’ll hate you forever, _ she’d said. He was trying to be nice, though he supposed teasing her was fun in its own way as well. He sighed. Why must people be so complicated? No one ever said what they meant, and everyone acted a million different ways around different people. The Boar was the worst of it, pretending to be a charming prince when he was a monster. Felix scowled. Everyone was too soft on the Boar. Only Felix knew the truth of who he was, and no one ever believed him. It was maddening.

And it wasn’t just what he’d seen that one day, either. Dimitri was always acting suspicious. He was up late just about every night, he barely slept, and he seemed to have an unhealthy fixation on the dead. Especially Glenn. Felix’s brother deserved better than to be rallied around as some sort of martyr for a trio of broken people. At least Sylvain, for all his myriad annoying, frustrating, aggravating (yet oddly endearing) faults, wasn't constantly parading Glenn’s corpse around as some sort of tragic flag or keepsake like the rest. His father and Ingrid’s reverence and Dimitri’s seeming obligation to the dead man all made him sick. Especially the assertion they’d made at first that he didn’t care. Of course he cared! Glenn had been the first to accept him, to teach him how to be a man when Felix told him about his struggles, insecurities, and most importantly, his identity. Without Glenn, he wouldn’t even  _ be _ Felix. That’s why he wanted the dead to stay dead, wanted his brother to stay at rest, not be used as a morbid trump card to win every argument, or idealized to the point of caricature.

But at least there were people here at the monastery that didn’t do that. Annette came readily to mind, as well as Leonie, who made for one hell of an unorthodox sparring partner with her use of traps and advantageous-to-her sparring grounds. And Caiym, who said very little but fought like a demon. Thus far, Caiym was the only sparring partner who had consistently bested Felix in a fair fight. He intended to keep it that way, too. He’d even beaten Jeritza and Catherine once each, even without Jeritza’s current handicap. He desperately hoped  _ someone _ was available. This pent-up aggression needed to be let out somehow.

Felix heard the singing stop, and rose to check on the greenhouse interior.

“Gah! Felix, what are you doing out here?” Annette yelled, nearly bumping into Felix as she stepped outside. “How much of that did you see? Or hear? Argh, you’re the worst of the worst!”

“I didn’t  _ see _ any of it,” he replied. “It’s my day to water the plants. I assume you’ve already done that?” She eyed him suspiciously. Felix rolled his eyes. “Did you or did you not water the plants?”

“I-I did. I thought today was my day to.”

“You’re on kitchen duty,” he corrected her. “Or, I guess, you were supposed to be on kitchen duty.”

Annette screamed. “Oh no! That’s right! I was supposed to help with dinner!” She took off towards the dining hall, and Felix watched with a smile as she ran. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

“I’m coming!” Dorothea yelled, clutching the back of Yuri’s head and bucking her hips. He adjusted the angle of his tongue to follow her, arms wrapped around her thighs. She let out another gasp of pleasure, then dropped to the bed, panting. Yuri smiled as he made his way to her side, brushing some of the hair from her face.

The pair lounged in Yuri’s office, such as it was; it was a room he’d found in Abyss and furnished with a desk, a chair, and his prized possession: an old mattress the archbishop had asked Balthus to discard, upon which Yuri and Dorothea lay, the sheets a tangled mess from their foreplay.

“That was a bit more intense than usual, Ladybird,” he said with a smirk. “You must be in an especially good mood.”

She laughed softly. “No more than usual.” She rolled onto her side, facing him. “Some thanks this turned out to be, for your work with the opera,” she said, returning his smile.

“I told you, you can thank me by not talking about it,” he replied, smile fading. “Besides, something like this is just routine at this point, yeah? Nothing terribly special.”

She glared at him. “Nothing  _ special _ , Yurikins? Are you telling me this doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“You told me it shouldn’t at first, lest you forget,” he said. “What was the word you used? ‘Just a fling,’ I believe?” He fought to keep his tone jovial, though he could feel the bitterness welling in him. He couldn’t deny his affection for her, and constantly seeing her naked and being with her physically made it even harder to hold back. Which he did. For her sake. Because she’d asked.

“I was joking, Yurikins, no need to get so defensive,” she said, her expression softening. “Besides, we agreed not to talk about anything serious during these little  _ exchanges _ of ours.” 

Before he could say anything, she pivoted over him, leaning across his body, straddling his face. She wrapped a hand around his dick and stroked it, gently. “Here, Yurikins. Let me give you a proper thank-you,” she said. She produced a condom from the stand beside them, put her lips around it, and descended her mouth, condom and all, onto him.

Not content to let her dominate the exchange, Yuri leaned up and reciprocated, resuming his earlier tonguing. He put his hands on her butt and squeezed, causing her to gasp, somewhat awkwardly. In retaliation, she increased the speed of her movement. Yuri redoubled his effort, determined to make her reach climax first. These trysts of theirs were like a game to him, and he hated losing. She clearly felt the same, or else she wouldn’t respond the way she did.

But this time, she had the advantage. While she was still sensitive, he had yet to finish even once. He squirmed under her assault, as her head began to move faster and faster, her tongue running along the shaft. He felt a climax welling in him before long.

All at once, she stopped, pulling her mouth off of him. “I’m not quite finished yet,” she said, lifting her hips away from his face. She moved down to just below his waist and turned to face him. With a devilish grin, she slid herself down onto him, pinning his arms down next to his head with her own. She leaned forward and kissed him, beginning to rock her hips. He moaned under the assault, struggling slightly against the pressure, though it was half-hearted; he’d decided to let her have this one. 

When she broke the kiss, he smiled. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. 

She blushed. “You have incredible timing, you know.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he replied, struggling to remain calm.

“You must be getting close by now.” Dorothea leaned back slightly.

“I was close when you started, Ladybird. You’re just - ”

She cut him off with another kiss, moving her hips faster, thrusting them up and down. He struggled to hold himself back, fighting against her for control of his arms, but it wasn’t enough. He moaned through the kiss as a surge of pleasure shot through his body.

She hesitantly, slowly broke her lips away again.

“That was a hell of a kiss, Ladybird. Little more passionate than your usual.” He smiled.

“Are you saying I’m not passionate?” She pouted, rolling off of him, and shoved him playfully. “You wound me, Yurikins.”

“Oh, I’m sure I do,” he said dryly. “Still, it was quite a bit for just a  _ fling, _ yeah?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone dropped.

“I mean, you said yourself at the start it was just an outlet until you found a husband, yeah?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from seeping in. “It was only ever temporary, right?”

“Well, I had this stupid thought that maybe this could become less temporary,” she said angrily. “But that’s not what you want, is it, Yurikins?”

“Hey, I never said that!” Yuri said as he turned to face her. She was crying, her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, Ladybird, I shouldn’t have said any of that. I just thought you were the one that wanted something temporary.”

“I did… at first.” She sat up. “I don’t know, Yurikins. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just scared. I came to the academy to find a noble husband to take care of me when I’m old and my voice fades, and…”

Yuri couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he sat beside her, cutting her off. “Ladybird, what the hell pushed you to such a self-destructive goal? You hate the nobility, why would you ever want to join them?”

“I… I never want to go back to living on the street again! I know I’ve got a limited amount of time to find someone to marry, so it’s frustrating that I haven’t. I was thinking that, maybe, you and I could…” Her voice trailed off.

Yuri pulled her into a hug and kissed her. “I don’t know that I’m the kind of guy you want to be around for the rest of your life, but I’m more than happy to be with you now.” 

She put her head against his shoulder. “You were my first crush, you know, way back in the day. I thought you were gorgeous.”

“I could say the same. You were captivating, even before the opera days.” He stroked her hair wistfully. 

“Then why are you fighting so hard against me right now?”

He paused. “I’m not who I was,” he said finally.

“That’s fine. I love who you are.” Dorothea looked into his eyes. 

He felt tears forming, but fought to hold them back; his eyeshadow cost a pretty penny and making it run would be unpleasant. “Oh, Ladybird,” he managed. He hugged her tightly again, refusing to let go this time.

* * *

The monastery was empty without her. No matter how much Dimitri tried to focus on the fact that she would be returning before long, he still missed her dearly. He missed her sweet smiles, her kind and calming voice, the sound of her humming quietly to herself as she worked, as if she was unaware of the rest of the world. He missed Byleth. 

He wasn’t sure when, exactly, his feelings for her had become what they were. He had certainly thought she was beautiful before, but now, it was something else. He could scarcely stand to be without her for four days. She likely thought very little about him, of course; he was just one student out of many, but to him, she was quickly becoming someone very dear.

Which was a problem.

He’d come here for revenge, nothing more, certainly not for romance, and  _ certainly _ not romance with a teacher. Still, as he sat in the candle-lit library, poring once more over the historical records around Duscur, he found his feelings undeniable. He closed the book, unable to focus. “I have to let her go,” he said out loud to no one. 

Dimitri stood and turned to leave, when movement by the doorway caught his eye. He sprinted forward, after the mystery person, whoever it was that had been eavesdropping. They rounded the corner, Dimitri close behind. He leapt, tackling the person to the ground with an  _ oof _ . Dimitri raised a fist.

“Wait, wait, wait, your princeliness! It’s me!” Claude threw his arms up in front of his face. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“Oh, Claude. My apologies.” Dimitri rose and offered a hand to the tan-skinned young man. “What on earth were you doing out this late?”

Claude took the offered hand, quickly rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d head to the library. Knowledge is power, as they say, and since I want to be powerful, I ought to gain more knowledge. But seeing you there this late, that surprised me.” Claude put his arms behind his head, as if leaning against them. “What might you have been up to?”

“Studying,” Dimitri replied. “There are a few things I want to learn that weren’t in the lectures.” It wasn’t a lie, not really; he just left out the fact that these things had nothing to do with the lectures at all.

“I understand that. What topics? Maybe I can offer some enlightenment.” Claude’s eyes seemed to twinkle with interest, giving his easygoing smirk something of a frightening feeling.

“Nothing that concerns you, I assure you. Just historical records. The sorts of things Professor Byleth usually goes into detail on in our lectures.”

“I see. Seteth’s a bit of a stick in the mud, that’s for sure.” Claude took a stern posture, narrowing his eyes in the way Seteth often did. “ _ I will read directly from the textbook and nothing more, anything else is a sin against the goddess, by the way, have you heard the Parable of Saint Macuil and the Swan? _ ” Claude chuckled. Dimitri couldn’t stop himself from laughing slightly as well; the impression was particularly spot-on. Claude continued, “Any particular time period? I’m something of a history buff myself.”

“Like I said, nothing too concerning.” Dimitri found himself unable to meet Claude’s gaze. 

“Any region in mind?”

“Is there any point to this constant probing, Claude?” Dimitri snapped, fighting to keep the anger from creeping into his voice. “I told you, it’s nothing of any interest to you.”

“Right you are. I guess I’m too curious for my own good. I just hate not knowing something, even if it’s something as innocent as why you’re studying in the library past midnight.” Claude’s smile never faded. 

“If you  _ must _ know, I was studying a little about Duscur. Seteth mentioned something about it in the lectures today, and I was curious,” Dimitri fibbed, hoping it would get Claude to stop asking questions.

“Ah, that makes sense.” Claude winked knowingly. “No need for the secrecy, Your Princeliness. I’m not your enemy or anything, just a curious man.”

“Right. Have a good night, Claude,” Dimitiri said dismissively, walking past the Golden Deer leader. 

“You know, you’ve been up late ever since Teach left.” Claude kept pace just a few steps behind Dimitri. “Was something going on between you two?”

Dimitri whirled around, glaring at Claude. “No! Now will you please leave me alone?” At that, he stormed off, leaving Claude standing in the hallway.

“Whatever you say, Your Princeliness. Whatever you say.”

* * *

Sunlight filtered into Ashe’s dorm room through the small windows against the back wall. The smell of burning candles, another source of light by which he could read, filled the air. Ashe sat on his bed, the book  _ The Sword of Kyphon _ open in his lap.

Hapi yawned, lounging on the floor, her legs resting on Ashe’s desk chair. “Freckles, please. This one’s so boring. I thought you had a few more raunchy books for me.”

“I’m sorry, Hapi. I thought you liked hearing these stories.” Ashe’s gaze turned downward. “I guess if it’s that boring, you don’t have to stay.”

“Whoa, now, I didn’t say that.” Hapi couldn’t help but want to make him feel better. He was like a sad puppy. “I like hearing you tell me stories, I guess, but I prefer the raunchier ones is all. Great battles from a thousand years ago or whatever don’t really interest me that much.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you listened just to humor me.”

“Argh, no, that’s not what I said!” Hapi dropped her legs from the chair and pushed herself to a sitting position. “I like listening to you, Freckles. I like spending time with you. Even if you don’t have any racy stories to read, that’s fine. I just like your company.” She blushed. “You’re a really nice guy.”

He perked up slightly. “I’m sorry, Hapi. Things are still a little difficult for me, after Lonato…”

“I know,” she said. “Trust me, I know that it can take some time to get over things. But for now, let’s not worry about that, okay?”

“Okay. Hm. Well, I have one that Yuri gave me, but it’s, ah. It’s something else.” Ashe blushed a deep red. “It’s called  _ The Feast of Decadence, _ and I guess it was banned from the library.”

“Whoa, really? Yuri-bird gave you a racy book? That’s weird.”

“I don’t think he knew the contents, just that it was a fiction book in the Abyss library, and he thought I might like it. Either that or it’s an elaborate joke and he’s laughing himself half to death right now.” Ashe stood up and pulled the book from his shelf, then returned to his bed. “Still, if you want me to read it to you…”

Hapi stood, then lay down on his bed, resting her legs on his lap and her head on the pillow. “Sure thing, Freckles. I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amusing note:  
> The Yuri/Dorothea scene was 100% unplanned. I noticed in my rough draft that page 69 was approaching and I felt like I had to do something stupid for it.  
> As for the Ashe/Hapi bit... I just think they're cute together. I love the dynamic of cynic/wide-eyed idealist, which is why I like Linhardt/Caspar so much I think.  
> Also, tried to imply-without-directly-stating that Felix is a transman, dunno if that came across well. I figure he's the type to cope with things by just not consciously fixating on them.


	7. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go poorly for Byleth. Caiym teams up with whoever he can grab to rescue her from Sylvain's brother.  
> Gilbert gets written out of the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for really vague mention of the possibility of sexual assault (none actually happens), as well as situations of captivity and physical trauma.

#  Chapter Seven: Taken

Something was wrong. Byleth had been gone for more than a week, and yet, according to Jeralt, there had been no communication with her or her detachment of knights. Caiym had tried to ask Rhea or Seteth what was happening, but neither was very helpful. He was used to being kept in the dark, but now, it infuriated him. His sister was out there, wasn’t safe. He couldn’t stand that. His students, too, suspected something, though probably just because he was quite off in his form and demeanor. As he towled himself off, washing the sweat from his body after their prior round of afternoon drills, he resolved himself to demand answers from Rhea. Today. His sister’s safety couldn’t wait.

“Um, p-professor?” Bernadetta said in her trembling voice. “I had a question I wanted to… um…” Her eyes darted from his face to his chest to the floor.

“By all means,” he replied, taking care to speak softly.

“I-It’s just, um, you seemed upset today. It was… it was kind of scary.” She averted her eyes. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you? You’re going to kill me and throw my body into a river!”

“Not at all.” He paused, thinking. He turned back to her, softening his voice the best that he could. “I’m worried about my sister. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“O-Oh. Okay. Right. She  _ has _ been gone for a while. Um, sorry if I worried you! Um, are you getting dinner, professor? I um, I wouldn’t mind eating with you if you are.”

“Not yet.” He stood and donned his shirt and coat. 

“Oh. Okay. Um, see you tomorrow, then, professor,” she said, eyes downcast, and ran off.

_ You’re a regular charmer, you know that? _

He ignored Sothis, as usual, and turned to head towards Rhea’s chamber on the second floor, though his purposeful walk was interrupted by Seteth, who met Caiym with a grim expression.

“Professor Caiym. Follow me. Lady Rhea wishes to speak with you, and it is rather urgent.”

Before long, he and Seteth found their way into Rhea’s audience chamber. Rhea stood in the center, illuminated by light from the windows behind her, framing her face in heavy shadow. She smiled, though there was nothing pleasant about it, with her empty stare and statue-like stillness. Her eyes lit up somewhat on seeing Caiym. Jeralt, too, stood in the room, his arms folded.

“Now that he’s here, will you tell me what’s going on?” Jeralt asked as Caiym and Seteth stepped into the room, rage creeping into his voice. “Where the hell is my daughter?”

“So this is about Byleth?” Caiym asked, marching toward Rhea.

“Calm yourself, professor,” Seteth interjected, placing a hand on Caiym’s shoulder. “Though I must ask, Lady Rhea, what  _ is _ going on?”

“One of the knights we sent with Byleth returned this morning,” Rhea began, her voice measured and calm. “She was injured rather severely, but is managing to recover. However, she delivered some rather grim testimony…”

* * *

Byleth ran her fingers along the engraving on her necklace, smiling softly. Her travel had been uneventful, as expected, and she had found the time to catch up on reading some of the magic tomes she had fallen behind on due to her teaching. As much as she missed her students, she had to admit that the quiet travel had been somewhat therapeutic for her. She’d found her mood lifting as the days passed on, with her few interactions with the knights sent as her escorts serving her need for conversation. Otherwise, she enjoyed the solitude of the wagon, especially now, as late-summer rain pelted the roof, a sheet of gray mixing with the brilliant reds and oranges of the sunset. Something about it was nostalgic to her, though the humidity had forced a change of attire back to her usual dress rather than her thick travelling clothes. 

She put the necklace back around her neck. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of the group that had come to see her off. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt wanted, loved even.  _ Maybe, _ she thought,  _ maybe I  _ have _ found somewhere I belong, whether I’m cut out for it or not. _

Her smile faded as she heard strange, loud noises from outside and the wagon came to an abrupt stop. She heard the frenzied whinny of the horses drawing it, followed by a dull  _ thump _ as they hit the ground. As she made her way out of the wagon, she heard shouts from the knights, as well as battle cries from what she assumed were their attackers. She stepped forward, readying a fireball in her left hand, and turned to see what was happening.

It was carnage.

Even as she watched, arrows tore through the knights from the side of the road. One red haired man, heavily armored and carrying a massive, multi-pronged spear, charged out of the thicket with blinding-fast speed, cutting down a trio of knights before they could react. Byleth froze, briefly, then launched the spell in her off hand at the armored man. It connected, though he reacted only by turning her way. Quickly, far too quickly, he was upon her, jabbing with that terrifying weapon of his. She swerved to the side, evading a direct impalement but suffering a shallow cut across her stomach.

“Knights!” she called, fighting to keep the fear from overtaking her voice. “Form up!”

The red-haired man laughed. “No point now.” 

He threw his arm back for another stab. Byleth planted her palm against his stomach, and, with a shout of defiance, unleashed a raw jet of flame into his gut. He growled in pain and dropped his spear, allowing Byleth to follow up with a series of magically-enhanced strikes against his unarmored thighs and head. The bandit stepped away, trying to get his shield between them, but Byleth was unrelenting. As he raised the shield, hoping to bring it down on her, she ducked and swept his legs out from under him with a kick. She rose, surveying the situation.

The knights had been annihilated. Superior numbers and the shock of the surprise attack had taken its toll, and the brigands stood victorious. Byleth hesitated, briefly, but that was all it took.

“I told you, girl. No point now,” the red-headed man said from behind her. He grabbed her arms, yanking them behind her back. She poured magic into them, but it was no match for the man’s relic-enhanced strength, nor the armor on his booted foot. With a stomp, he shattered her left arm, then her right. As the pain overwhelmed her and her consciousness started to fade, Byleth heard him say, “Let’s get this one to the tower. I think we’re in for a hell of a ransom.”

* * *

“Taken?” Jeralt roared. “Taken where?”

“Conand Tower seems most likely to be the tower he referenced,” Rhea replied calmly. “But you are not to go, Jeralt. You have other duties.”

“The hell I’m not! That’s my damn daughter! You don’t have enough knights to stop me.”

“Calm yourself, captain,” Seteth said with an almost sinister chill in his voice. “I wouldn’t want this to come to blows. That said. Lady Rhea, I trust you have a plan to recover her?”

“I do. Professor Caiym, your mission for the month has changed. You and your students are to march on Conand Tower and rescue your sister.”

Caiym nodded. “We’ll depart at once, then.” 

“Wait!” she called. “I’ll be dispatching Gilbert, one of the knights, to accompany you, as well as Sylvain from the Blue Lions. Conand Tower is within Gautier territory, so he will guide you, to get there swiftly.”

Caiym glared at her. “How long will this take?”

“Not long, I assure you. Gather your students and be ready by the main gate.” Rhea smiled despite the severity of the situation.

“I’m going too, damn you!” Jeralt shouted. “You can’t just send my kids after bandits like that and  _ not _ allow me to go with them!”

“No, Jeralt. Your mission takes priority.”

“Not this time,” he said, and pushed past Seteth. “Send Gilbert on whatever throwaway mission in my place.”

Caiym followed his father. “I’ll gather my students and Sylvain.”

“Then go. We don’t have any time to waste.”

* * *

It was dark. She didn’t know where she was or how long she had been there. Days, perhaps. On occasion, one of her captors would enter to feed her scraps of meat and force her to drink water. Thus far, their only contact with her was keeping her alive, though she’d suffered the occasional beating at first, when she resisted. They’d removed her dress, likely to sell it, and her glasses, leaving her half-blind and clothed only by her undergarments. She’d overheard a few conversations regarding ransoming her back to the church, and, likely because of that, they hadn’t… 

She didn’t want to think about that.

The chains around her wrists hurt. Her body ached. The pain in her still-broken arms was unbearable. She’d cried, at first, but she found the tears wouldn’t come anymore. 

This was her fault.

She wasn’t cut out for this. Had it been her brother, he would have cut the bandits down without hesitation or mercy. Had it been her father, none of the knights would have fallen. But it was her, and the knights were dead. She was taken. Hurting. Again.

And she had been so happy to be useful to someone.

* * *

They rode for three days with only brief stops before arriving at the tower. Caiym had gathered who he could; Ferdinand, Edelgard, Hubert, Bernadetta, Caspar and Linhardt had been easy enough to find, but Dorothea was nowhere to be seen, Petra had briefly returned to Enbarr for a political affair, and Constance was likely in Abyss, somewhere Caiym had no time to search. Sylvain had readily agreed to come along, and Dimitri, who had been in the area when Caiym asked, had insisted. Caiym wasn’t one to turn down help. Together with Jeralt, they had departed for Conand Tower as quickly as they could.

The tower stretched above them, grim and foreboding. A sigil, consisting of what looked like a crest covered by a skull, hung from the banners outside. A pair of bandits rose as the entourage approached, but a pair of rapid shots from Caiym prevented them from crying out or alerting anyone else.

Caiym dismounted, and the students and Jeralt did the same.

“This bodes ill,” Hubert whispered. “It may be for the best if we approach with more caution than usual.”

The second sentence had yet to leave his lips when Caspar and Ferdinand threw themselves, shoulder-first, into the closed front door, bashing it open.

“Or I suppose we could do things the usual way,” Hubert said with a cold glare. 

Caiym paid him no heed. Without a word, he charged into the tower, brushing past Ferdinand and Caspar. Dimitri followed, his expression one of unbridled fury. The floor was empty, devoid of anything save a few supply barrels and boxes and a staircase leading up. Caiym immediately made his way up the stairs, followed by the Faerghus prince. 

“Come on, don’t lag behind!” Jeralt called to the students, following Caiym and Dimitri up the stairs. The group ran through multiple floors and multiple rooms, but there was no sign of life. Not until the top of the tower.

Caiym pushed through the doorway at the top. Two brigands turned his way. The first one caught a knife through the eye for his trouble, drawn and thrown by Caiym in one motion. The second got as far as drawing his sword before Caiym slashed him apart, one stroke from his own blade cutting the man’s torso in half from left hip to right shoulder. He stood to his full height, blood staining his face, blade, and coat, facing the brigands before him. The brigands hesitated.

“It’s the fucking Ashen Demon!” one of them screamed, breaking the momentary silence.

Immediately, Dimitri roared and charged past Caiym, tearing through the foremost brigand with a thrust from his lance. Caiym leapt into the fray, bringing the Sword of the Creator down on one of the bandit’s skulls, simultaneously crushing it and cleaving through it. Jeralt charged forward as well, his strikes lacking the ferocity and savagery of the younger two men, but with the precision and steadiness that came from age. 

Before long, the other students caught up and joined the melee, all save Bernadetta, who remained back, firing the occasional arrow, lamenting out loud her uselessness in close-quarters fights.

Bolstered by the support, Caiym redoubled his assault. He turned, cutting upward with his sword, slicing a bandit in half with a single motion. Another came from beside him and sliced Caiym’s arm. The mercenary threw a gloved hand to the man’s throat, headbutting him square in the center of his face. As the dazed bandit made to stab him, Caiym drove an armored knee into his gut. A second bandit rushed him, so Caiym turned, putting the beaten man between them, and pushed. The approaching bandit sliced his cohort with a wicked-looking iron axe, knocking him to the ground. As he hefted his weapon to cut Caiym, the mercenary drove his sword through the man’s chest. On instinct, Caiym ducked under a spear from behind, and turned, ripping the sword from the now-dead brigand’s chest. The spear-wielding woman let out a roar, taking a step forward and stabbing for Caiym, but the Ashen Demon proved her better. Caiym grabbed the shaft of the spear, right behind the blade, and spun with her momentum. Before she realized it, Caiym had disarmed her, and, faster than she could react, driven her spear into her throat. An arrow lodged its way into Caiym’s shoulder. He focused on the archer, spotting him over the melee. The archer’s expression dropped as Caiym met their eyes. Quickly, the archer readied an arrow and fired, off-balance; the arrow flew wide. Caiym was upon them before they had time to so much as touch their second arrow. With a single sweep of his arm, Caiym cut the archer’s head from their shoulders. 

On either side of Caiym, Edelgard and Dimitri maintained the offensive. Dimitri fought with savagery matching Caiym’s, though far more proactive: he rushed headlong into the attack, growling as he ran. One man stood in front of Dimitri, shield raised. Dimitri threw himself into the shield with surprising force, driving the man backwards, forcing him to give ground. Dimitri threw multiple punches into the man’s side, each blow denting the armor with inhuman strength. He snarled, grabbed the man’s shield, and yanked downward. Edelgard, seeing an opening, drove her axe into the armored man’s midsection. He screamed, and she tore it out, spinning with the momentum, then came back around and struck his neck, severing the man’s head with a  _ snap _ . Dimitri tossed his lance forward, catching one of the outlaws below the shoulder. Edelgard stepped forward, bashing her shield against the lance, driving it through the man. Dimitri grabbed it and tore, severing the man’s arm with the motion. Edelgard raised her shield above Dimitri, who watched as a dent from an arrow marred the metal, where his eye would have been were it not for her intervention.

Ferdinand and Caspar, positioned towards the rear of the group, focused themselves on preventing Bernadetta, Linhardt, and Hubert from falling under attack, as well as stopping the odd surround attempt on the three forces of nature ahead of them, their efforts aided by Jeralt. Ferdinand and Jeralt alternated pokes with their lances, forming up beside one another. Caspar, meanwhile, ran wild with his tomahawk, devolving to bare-handed brawling after each toss, but recovering it quickly enough. 

* * *

“This is pointless,” Hubert growled as his sphere of miasma flew far too wide of the battle to do anything. “I can’t line up a clean shot with these animals on the field.”

“I have to agree,” Linhardt said, ducking behind a pile of supply crates to avoid a stray arrow. “We should probably make ourselves useful and look for Byleth.”

Hubert paused, thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right.” 

The two slipped away from the battlefield.

* * *

Caiym spun his sword in a half-circle in front of him, extending the blade outward. Those that weren’t cut apart by the motion were forced back. He returned it to its resting state, then leveled it at the remaining warriors. From behind them, the sound of armored boots on stone rang out.

“So this is what the church sends after that teacher, eh? A bunch of brats and a geezer past his prime?” A tall, scarred, red-headed man made his way forward, carrying a many-pronged spear made from the same bone-like material as the sword in Caiym’s hand. The gash across his face indicated combat experience, as well as either tenacity or cowardice, as did the bulky, semi-mismatched armor he wore. The tattered noble’s overcoat beneath it signified either an ignored heritage or a taste for the finer things. The shield in his off-hand, large and square, was clearly as much a weapon as it was defensive, the way he held it just to the side. Caiym spun his sword, reversing his grip. This man was dangerous.

“ _ Where is she _ ?” Dimitri growled, a cruel smile spread across his face. “ _ Tell me, or I’ll rip your head from your worthless shoulders _ !”

Even the other students seemed hesitant at that. After a moment of silence, Sylvain stepped forward. “Miklan. Brother.” He grinned viciously and leveled his own lance. “I always knew you were a piece of shit.”

“You!” the redheaded man, Miklan, roared. “You took everything from me! Now that mommy and daddy aren’t here to protect you, I don’t have to give a rat’s ass about killing you!”

“ _ Shut up _ !” Dimitri roared, and made to charge, though his forward momentum halted upon clashing with a group of bandits. 

Sylvain approached, cautiously, his spear in a defensive posture. Ferdinand and Caspar moved beside him to cover his advance. Edelgard rushed in to save Dimitri, her axe flashing as she cut the bandits away from him. Hubert was nowhere to be seen, nor was Linhardt. 

Caiym threw himself forward, tossing his weapon into a nearby bandit. As he landed, he tore his sword out of the chest of the man in front of him and kicked the still-struggling bandit to the ground. He moved towards Miklan, extending his weapon’s blade like a whip, hoping to catch the man off-guard. Miklan slammed his shield into the bladed shards and parried Caiym’s halfhearted strike. Undeterred, Caiym pushed forward, kicking off the ground into a leap, placing both hands on his weapon and bringing it down at Miklan, who threw his shield above him with all his strength. It wasn’t enough. Though Caiym’s assault had been halted, Sylvain rushed forward with a roar, catching his distracted brother in the side with his lance. Miklan yelled in pain, making to smack at the younger Gautier with his lance, though Sylvain ducked easily. Sylvain pushed forward, using the handle of his lance to catch Miklan under the arm, throwing him off-balance for Caiym’s followup attack on the opposite side, which he caught again with his shield. Caiym pressed his sword into the iron, adjusted his footing, and turned at his hip, slicing clean through the shield and Miklan’s arm beneath it.

Miklan grunted, backing off. “Not bad for your kind,” he said, as he winced from pain. “A bunch of spoiled rotten children!”

He glanced down as an inky-black  _ something _ poured forth from his lance.

* * *

Byleth's eyes opened, slowly. She could hear the sounds of fighting outside. She didn’t dare hope for a rescue. Byleth sat in darkness, wondering if this would be her end.

“I think she’s in here,” a cold, somewhat sinister voice called from beyond the door. It sounded familiar, though she couldn’t place it. “Let me get that for you.” The door flew from its hinges. Byleth turned her head to face whoever was beyond it, though she was unable to see well without her glasses. The figure was dressed in all black, with dark hair and pale skin. Behind it stood another figure dressed in black, though this one had hair the color of moss. 

“That’s her, all right,” the moss-haired one said. “Injured, but not too bad. Do you think we can carry her out?”

“Are you willing to put in the effort?” jabbed the dark-haired one.

“Not the time, Hubert,” the moss-haired man said, somewhat threateningly. “Can you get the chains?” 

The chains holding her arms fell away with a  _ woosh, _ and her hands dropped to her lap. “Professor, can you stand?” asked the sinister voice.

She pushed herself to her feet, standing shakily, her arms hanging limp in front of her. “H-Hubert?” she asked, her voice weak.

“Indeed. If you can stand, then you can walk out of here yourself. Linhardt, are her belongings in this chamber? Clothing, specifically. She can’t very well face the rest of them like  _ that. _ ” 

“Not that I can tell,” Linhardt replied. “Looks empty.”

“Supplies were… gathered downstairs…” Byleth said. “Think they… sold my glasses…”

“Hm. That _is_ a shame. Well then, shall we rejoin the others, Linhardt? By the looks of things, they are… not okay.”

* * *

The beast that had been Miklan roared and slammed its head into Jeralt, knocking the man aside. Dimitri caught him and helped him to his feet. Caiym stalked around the creature, firing arrow after arrow into its thick hide, fruitlessly. Sylvain held his spear in front of him, poking occasionally to keep the beast at bay. Ferdinand stood in front of Bernadetta, raising a shield and spear. Caspar lay unconscious, having been tossed against the far wall by the creature in its throes during transformation. Edelgard stood to the beast’s side, alternating blows from her axe and shield in an attempt to at least  _ weaken _ the creature. Nothing seemed to take. With each hit, the beast’s movements only got more and more frenzied, showing no signs of weakness or even damage. 

Caiym put away his bow, realizing he was getting nowhere. He took up his sword and took a hesitant step forward.

_ No hesitation.  _ His father’s words echoed in his mind. A mantra he’d used when training Caiym, years ago.  _ No hesitation. No mercy. No matter what. _

Caiym threw caution to the wind and bull-rushed the beast, sword first, digging the relic blade into the creature’s flank. Black blood sprayed from the wound. Caiym tore the sword upward, spun around to put his back to the thing, and drove the sword into the creature’s flesh again. He rolled forward, then pivoted, facing the creature once more. 

Sylvain rushed in beside him and impaled the beast through one of the wounds Caiym had left. It let out a bellow of pain.

“My teacher!” Edelgard called. “You give us an opening, and we’ll follow up!”

Caiym slashed at the creature’s throat, then stepped back. He had an  _ idea. _ “Edelgard, Dimitri! Ready yourselves!” He extended the sword into a whip, spun it in a circular motion, and wrapped the edged pieces around the creature’s throat. He yanked, hard, and drove the creature to the ground. As if on cue, Dimitri and Edelgard charged the beast from either side, cutting at it with their weapons. The beast screamed, then pulled itself to its full height, shrugging off Caiym’s sword. Jeralt ran forward and drove his lance home into the wound on its flank, eliciting another roar.  


Seeing an opening, Sylvain tossed his spear into the side of the creature’s throat. It ripped through one of the wounds Caiym had made, piercing deep into the thing’s neck. It let out a roar that swiftly turned to a whimper, and fell forward. It began to unravel, as though it had been made of thousands of small black threads, until only Miklan and the many-pronged spear remained. 

“Brother…” Sylvain muttered, shaking his head.

“Now where the  _ hell _ is my daughter?” Jeralt shouted. 

“Over here, captain,” Hubert called. He was smiling despite the grim situation. Linhardt stood beside him, supporting Byleth on his shoulder, her arms hanging in front of her, evidently broken. Her clothes were missing, her glasses were gone, and her wrists were bound by manacles. Caiym dropped his weapon and ran toward her, but stopped, watching as Dimitri pulled Byleth into a tight embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a darker chapter. What can I say, I like my hurt/comfort, and I think the sadder moments make the happy ones shine all the brighter!   
> Just a heads-up, tomorrow's post is gonna be chapters 8 *and* 9. They used to just be one chapter, but I split them for pacing, chapter length, and to not break my rule about PoV characters. I still think they read best together, so I'll be posting both! They're also pretty lighthearted, which I'm sure will be welcome at this point :p  
> As always, thanks so much for your support!


	8. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of her capture, Byleth finds herself unable to teach for a while. Meanwhile, Caiym gets to know his new student a little better. Hanneman and Manuela finally get to speak lines!

#  Chapter Eight: Awakening

Dimitri fidgeted uncomfortably, both under the intense gaze of the man across the table from him and due to the rather uncomfortable couch on which he sat. Jeralt’s office was sparsely decorated, with a flower in a vase, probably picked by Byleth, serving as the one bit of denotation that the office was so much as used. Jeralt leaned back, resting his arms across the back of the couch, never breaking eye contact with Dimitri, who coughed politely.

“So,” Jeralt began.

“So!” Dimitri said, jumping slightly at the unexpected sound.

“That hug you gave my daughter at Conand.” His tone was accusatory. 

Dimitri squirmed. “What about it? I was worried for her, that’s all.”

“Right.” Jeralt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know you’ve been in and out of her room in the infirmary these past few days, too.”

“What’s the harm in that? Should Caiym fall injured, as she has, I have no doubt Edelgard would visit at  _ least _ as often as I do!” he protested. 

“I just want to make one thing  _ very _ clear, kid.” Jeralt narrowed his eyes, maintaining eye contact with Dimitri, who found himself unable to look away. “Byleth is my sweet little girl. If you hurt her-”

“I would never!” Dimitri shouted, interrupting him, an action he regretted immediately, given Jeralt’s deathly glare.

“If you hurt her,” Jeralt continued, slower this time, “there is no word in any language known to Fódlan or beyond for the agony that you will experience in return. Do I make myself clear?”

Dimitri nodded, too terrified to speak.

Jeralt relaxed slightly. “Good.” He offered a smile, though it looked insincere given his prior staredown. “Hope I didn’t scare you off too much. She’s my precious little girl, so I get protective, but she’s awfully fond of you. Even I notice it.”

“I’m, ah, not sure what you mean,” Dimitri said, still tense. “You must be imagining things.” He laughed, awkwardly.

Jeralt chuckled. “Sure, kid.” He turned away, facing his bookshelves. “Listen, I like you, believe it or not. You’re a nice kid, a bit boring, but that’s not the worst thing in the world. You’d be good for her, I think. She’s always had trouble talking to people, but she seemed to hit it off great with some of you brats. Makes me wonder about how I raised her…”

“I wouldn’t be good for her,” Dimitri muttered, his face downcast, eyes narrowed. “I appreciate your praise, but I’m not the kind of person she needs. I’d just end up hurting her if she and I were…” He sighed. He stood, nearly knocking the couch over with his sudden movement. “I apologize for giving off the wrong impression,” he added, and left, closing Jeralt’s door behind him.

* * *

Byleth slowly opened her eyes. She could barely see anything. Instinctively, she reached for her glasses. She heard a clatter of something falling to the ground and jumped slightly. 

“Professor?” a deep, smooth voice called. She turned towards it, squinting. She could barely make out a tall figure, head topped with blonde hair, a blue cape on his shoulder.

“Dimitri…?” she managed, weakly. She coughed. 

“I brought you water,” he said, pressing a cup into her hand. She found herself unable to grip it or so much as bring it to her face, so Dimitri held it for her. She drained the cup slowly, savoring the cool liquid passing down her throat. “There’s food here, too. Spicy curry. Your brother said it was your favorite.”

“Can’t… see…” she managed between gulps of water.

“Ah, of course. Here, hold still,” he said. Dimitri slid something over her face, and the blurred images sharpened at once. “Is that okay? We couldn’t find  _ your _ glasses, but the Blue Lions and Hilda all pitched in to get you these.”

She blinked a few times, trying to regain her focus. The glasses were close enough to work, though some things remained blurry. She was sitting in a bed in the infirmary. Dimitri sat beside her, the empty cup in his hand. Manuela was nowhere to be seen. On the table beside her, opposite Dimitri, sat a vase full of flowers next to a small bag of coffee beans. “My… Necklace…?” 

“Ah, that.” Dimitri smiled sheepishly. “It was missing, but think nothing of it, professor! It was a silly keepsake, nothing more.”

She frowned, felt tears welling in her eyes. She paused, then asked, “How… long…?”

“How long have you been asleep?” Byleth nodded. “You were only asleep for about ten hours.” She relaxed somewhat, and Dimitri took a spoonful of curry, bringing it to her mouth. She felt ridiculous, but took the bite. “But you’ve been in the infirmary for…” he paused, thinking. “A little over a month, I’d say?”

Byleth nearly spat out her curry in shock, but stopped herself, choking down the bite. “A… month…?”

“Yes, just about. Your wounds were pretty nightmarish. By the sounds of things, they’d left you malnourished in captivity for… some time.” Something dark flashed over Dimitri’s face for a moment, then was gone as if it had never been there, replaced again by his concerned expression. “You’ve woken up here and there, but this is the first time you’ve said anything or responded to anyone. Though you did manage to eat and drink on occasion.”

“The… students…” she began, trying to sit up further. She fell back onto the pillows behind her.

Dimitri laughed. “Always worrying about others before yourself. Not to worry, Seteth has taken over your lectures for the time being.” He offered her another bite, which she took, still blushing. “Though I suppose he’ll be grateful that you’re back. He’s had a lot on his plate lately, with Professor Caiym taking up Jeritza’s combat training duties and Hanneman all-but refusing to actually teach anything besides crest studies.”

“Jeritza…?”

“You don’t remember? Flayn was kidnapped last month, by Jeritza as it turns out. Your brother and his students rescued her, as well as another girl named Monica. I made sure to tell you when you were awake, but…”

Byleth blinked. She’d missed a lot, evidently. “Thank you,” she said, at last managing to shake the grogginess from her mind. “Thank you for everything.”

Dimitri smiled at her. “Of course, professor. I’m only doing my duty as your student.”

She shook her head. “This is more than that. You… went out of your way for me.”

He blushed. “O-Of course I did. You’re a valued professor, and I… I wanted to show you that.” The awkward silence was unbearable. “Um. Are you doing okay? Manuela said there were no signs of… Well, you weren’t hurt in  _ that _ way, but…”

_ Am I doing okay?  _ She honestly wasn’t sure. Her body hurt, and she couldn’t shake the terror and isolation of that darkened cell. And yet, here she was. She was back where she belonged. She was surrounded by people that cared for her, as evidenced by Dimitri’s presence, and the flowers at her bedside, even the glasses on her face. “I guess I am,” she said finally. 

“That’s a relief to hear,” he said, visibly relaxing. “I was so worried after what happened. Especially with you in the infirmary for a month… But you do seem to be doing much better now.”

“I guess… it is because you are here,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“I- what?” was all Dimitri could manage.

“Ah! D-do not misunderstand! I um, I am just glad that I did not wake up alone, that is all. And I do not exactly  _ hate _ your company, in fact I would go so far as to say I quite like being around you.” She paled. “Um, I meant that as… well, you are a good student, and… um, you are… I…”

His face seemed to darken. “I understand, professor. Don’t worry, I didn’t get the wrong idea at all. I’m just glad you’re awake now.” He stood and made for the door, paused, and turned back to her. He offered an agonizingly fake smile. “I’ll let the others know you’re awake. I’m sure they’ll all be delighted.”

He stepped out, closing the door behind her. Byleth hugged her knees, unable to keep from crying.

* * *

Caiym sat in his office, resting his head in his hand, staring blankly at the papers on the otherwise-empty desk in front of him that he was supposed to be grading. The letters seemed to blur together into an amalgamation that only vaguely resembled the Fódlan tongue. He could barely read at the best of times, even after all the effort Byleth had put in to teach him in their youth. It was useful for certain things, he supposed; reading signs helped him a fair amount, and he now understood which specific foods were spicy by name alone, thus knowing to avoid them. However, beyond that, he saw no need for it; what use did he have for  _ words _ when  _ swords _ did every job he needed?  _ I bet you’re real proud of that one, _ Sothis grumbled. He tossed the papers off his desk.  _ You are going to regret that very quickly. _

_ I hate that you’re right, _ he replied silently, staring at the mess of paper on his floor.

“Oh, am I interrupting something, professor?” a girl’s voice asked. He looked up, facing down the unmistakable red hair and eyes of Monica von Ochs, his unusual new student. “You’ve got a really unusual method for decoration,” she remarked with a smirk. 

“I was angry.” He frowned at the mess on his floor. “This didn’t help.”

“I would think not.” She approached him, carefully stepping over the papers, sitting down in front of his desk, leaning back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Anyway, Edel said you sent for me?”

“Yes.” He sat back down, deciding to leave the papers where they lay for now. “How is returning to class?”

“Hm. Well, you know, business as usual for me! I’m just glad to be safe and sound.”

Caiym nodded. “No difficulty? I hear you and Edelgard get along.”

“Kinda.” Monica smiled wickedly. “Edel says I piss her off, but I think she’s just kidding. You know how Edel can be.”

“I guess.” He frowned, though kept quiet otherwise.  _ Edelgard isn’t really one for joking like that, is she, Sothis?  _

_ How would you expect me to know that? I sleep through your boring lectures. _

__ “I know she’s not kidding, professor,” Monica said with a carefree tone. “Whether I bother her or not, it doesn’t matter. Edel’s just gotta get used to working with me.

“True.” Caiym nodded. “You do well. You fight well, at least.”

“I ought to,” she replied confidently. “I bet I’ve got more experience than half these other students, maybe more than you.”

“I doubt it.” He couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the thought of competition.

“Well, is there anything else you need from me?” She leaned back further in the chair, lifting two of the legs off the ground. “Anything more personal, perhaps?”

“No. That’s all.” He frowned again at the papers on his floor.

“Okay. Well, see you around, professor.” Monica offered a wink as she let her chair fall forward, walking out of Caiym’s office. He noticed she seemed to sway her hips a bit more than she had before. Perhaps she was injured? He would have to ask her about that.

_ Trust me, your flirtation is wasted on this idiot, _ Sothis muttered.

_ I wasn’t flirting, _ he replied, confused.

_ Not. You. _

_ Oh. Then who were you speaking to? Is there someone else in my head? _

__ Sothis roared in frustration, then went silent.

__ With a resigned sigh, Caiym stood to pick up the scattered papers before the night ended.

* * *

Byleth sat in her bed, still in the infirmary. She could only tell by the brightness peeking through the window that it was mid-afternoon; all other indications of time passing had been lost to her. Her stomach was bandaged, and the cut Miklan had given her still stung. Her arms, however, were fine: she was able to lift them with no problem now. Evidently, it had taken Manuela, Mercedes, and several bishops working in tandem to repair the damage to them, but Byleth could at least write with no difficulties now. Which is why she was so insistent on returning to work.

“You simply can’t, professor,” Manuela said, clutching an ice pack to her head, a glass of water in her other hand. “If anyone knows your frustration, it’s me, trust me.” She frowned. “The Death Knight gave me quite the nasty scar while you were out, so I had to miss my lectures for a while, too.” She laughed, then winced in pain and clutched the ice pack tighter. “Poor Seteth, though. That good-for-nothing Hanneman didn’t so much as offer to step in on my behalf, Seteth took it all on himself, which is pretty chivalrous if you ask me.”

Byleth smiled politely. She didn’t exactly  _ hate _ Manuela’s company, but the former diva had a way of dragging on every point far more than she needed to, especially when drunk or hungover, which she basically always was.

“Speaking of chivalrous, your brother’s something in that regard, isn’t he? Stepping up to the plate like he did to take over Jeritza’s combat training duties. It’s no small feat,” she said with a flirty smile. “Plus, he’s got that tall, dark, handsome look going for him. I mean, I know he’s your  _ brother _ , but even you have to admit he has charm, right, professor?”

Byleth pursed her lips.  _ He eats food he hates, claims he’s talking to a small, pointy-eared child-but-not-a-child that he once mistook for a shrubbery that lives in his brain, knows complex tactical concepts but barely even tries to string three words together in a sentence because it’s “inefficient,” and he learned to read on what few non-sexual passages I could gather from romance novels. I love him, but none of that says “charm” to me.  _ Aloud, she said, “I suppose so.” 

Manuela laughed again, then clutched her head and took a hefty swig of water.

“Did you go out drinking  _ again _ ?” Hanneman asked, standing in the infirmary doorway. “Honestly, Manuela. Such behavior is unbecoming of a teacher at this academy.” He ran a hand over his moustache. 

“If you simply  _ must _ know,” Manuela replied, her voice dripping with venom, “I did not ‘go out’ drinking. I had wine in my room after hours.”

“That… that is not better,” Byleth said before she could stop herself.

“Oh? And what about you, professor? I’ve seen Jeralt bring ale into your room on occasion, so what right have you to judge me for drinking alone?” Manuela glared at Byleth, then took another swig of water and pressed the ice in harder.

“He brings that for himself. I much prefer coffee.” Byleth folded her arms across her chest.

“All of that aside,” Hanneman interrupted, “Are you well enough to stand, professor? Seteth has put in for time off, and with the Battle of the Eagle and Lion fast approaching, Lady Rhea and I think it would be best if you were to resume your duties instructing your class.”

_ I’ve been well enough to stand for  _ days _ , thank you _ , she replied in her mind. “Ah, I do believe I am capable of resuming my duties, yes.” Byleth turned, draping her legs over the bed. She stood, shakily, nearly dropping, and let out a small  _ eek _ . She steadied herself, putting her hand on the bed. She closed her eyes, pouring magic into her legs like she did for kicking. She stood, opened her eyes, made to take a step forward, and leapt across the infirmary, stumbling into Hanneman, who caught her despite his surprise. She smiled, thoroughly embarrassed. “See? I am fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Flayn's disappearance was offscreen. There're a few reasons for this, but mostly, I didn't want to have two chapters of "Caiym progresses the plot while Byleth does nothing" in a row, and I had zero idea how to write around the fact that, canonically, game!Byleth figures out where Flayn went on the first Sunday of the month, but spends the *entire rest of the month* messing around before rescuing her, or simply refuses to do anything for an entire month after rescuing Flayn. This unfortunately means we skip Caiym's birthday in the main fic proper, but nothing to be done I guess. I'll probably just make it a paralogue later!
> 
> As always, thanks for the support! ❤


	9. Peaceful Days III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which:  
> *Seteth finally has a day off  
> *Sylvain lets out some mangst  
> *Hilda has two late-night conversations  
> *I set up minor scenes that happen later so they don't come out of nowhere

#  Chapter Nine: Peaceful Days III

Seteth leaned back on the pier, dipping his feet into the water, relishing the current over his skin, holding his fishing pole steady. Behind him, his wyvern lay, tied to a post on the edge of the pier, more for appearances than to actually restrain her. The autumn chill was certainly not the norm for fishing, but he had no intention of catching anything anyway; he’d taken his vacation to the Airmid river mainly to get away from the monastery, and, in particular, the  _ students. _ Sweet Sothis, he wanted nothing to do with them at the moment. Even this one intrusive thought was far more effort than he cared to spend on them, the damned hellions. He did miss Flayn, and her decision to remain away from him was certainly troubling to him, especially after the incident with Jeritza, but he tried to let it go. He would only be gone a few hours, and she was with Professor Caiym, who, for all of his oddities, was at least trustworthy in keeping her safe. He worried for her mental acuity at times, however. At her age, to still be as small as she was, and as childlike… it was concerning. He supposed it had to do with her injuries way back when, and how long she’d had to sleep them off, but even so, he had no desire to be the parent - or older sibling for that matter - of a tweenage girl for all of eternity. 

_ No, no. Calm yourself, Cichol. This is a vacation. Relax. _

He closed his eyes, considering ideas for fables he could write. He was certain Macuil and Indech would scoff at his use of them in his writing, but he often scoffed at their decision to live as beasts, so it seemed a fair exchange to him. Besides, they had no way of knowing he was making an example out of them, given their isolation, a fact that at once amused and saddened him. He released a drawn-out, contented sigh. No calls of “Seteth” by Serios - Lady Rhea, he corrected himself, no demands for his attention, no students trying to get themselves killed, none of Claude’s schemes or Felix and Sylvin’s arguments or Hilda’s laziness, none of Caiym’s idiosyncrasies, no bickering from Manuela and Hanneman… 

With another sigh, he lay back, setting his fishing rod into a socket next to him. He could feel himself nodding off to sleep.

“Mister! Mister!” a child’s voice shouted, snapping Seteth from his rest. He sat up, turning to face the direction of the voice. A young boy, maybe seven, stood at the edge of the pier, staring at Seteth. His wyvern, Cherche, sniffed at the boy, though made no move toward him. “Mister?” the boy repeated.

“Yes, child?” Seteth smiled, rising to his feet. “Is there something you need?”

“Ummm,” he said, looking at Cherche. “Does he bite?”

“No, _she_ doesn’t.”

“Can I pet her?” The boy looked into the wyvern’s eyes. She snorted and set her head back down.

“Go ahead.”

The child extended his hands, patting Cherche’s nose gently. She let out a contented grunt, not moving, simply enjoying the attention. The boy laughed. “Thanks, mister!” he said, turning and running back down the path to a nearby village.

Seteth sat back down, content to have no responsibilities for once. Within minutes, he was soundly asleep.  


* * *

The still, moonlit silence in the training hall was broken only by the  _ woosh _ of air as Sylvain jabbed forward with his family’s relic, the Lance of Ruin. It was unusual to practice with a relic like this, hence his use of the training hall so late, cutting unfortunately into his time to fool around with girls, but he supposed there was nothing to be done. His balance with it was off; the spearhead was far heavier than what he was used to. He didn’t want a mistake with it on the battlefield to cost him or one of his classmates their life.

_ Classmates. _ Sylvain let loose a bitter laugh. He’d considered a few of them friends, once. Ingrid had nothing but disdain for him now, not that he could blame her, and whatever friendship had once been there was likely long gone. Felix was difficult to talk to on the best of days, and the past couple months had certainly not been the best of days. Plus, he still found it hard to interact with Felix, someone he’d known for years under another name, a name that he’d been asked to forget. Which he had, for Felix’s sake. Besides, the name  _ Felix _ suited him better, Sylvain thought. Besides Felix, Annette was nice, cute too, but too wrapped up in her studies to be much of a friend. Dedue barely spoke, though Sylvain guessed they got along well enough. Ashe was okay, a bit too naive for his own good though. Mercedes... he found it painful to think about Mercedes, given his hopeless feelings for her. Hapi did nothing but piss Sylvain off, especially given that she insisted on calling him “Lordling,” reducing him down to just his title, just because she knew it would annoy him. On the other hand, Dimitri was fine enough, but he seemed to keep his distance from everyone. Well, everyone except  _ her.  _

Byleth  _ fucking _ Eisner. He’d been taken in by her too, at the beginning. She had a pretty face, a great body, and at least acted the part of the caring, thoughtful professor. But it was all an act. Ever since Ferdinand had mentioned seeing her at one of his father’s high society parties, the wheels had started turning in Sylvain’s head. She was a commoner, crestless, conventionally beautiful, and intelligent. The type that could easily find her way into some nobleman’s bed. Bearing that nobleman’s child. Marrying that nobleman. Rising from her status as commoner. He supposed she’d seen her opportunity with Dimitri, seen the naive prince for what he was, and moved in for the kill. After all, what better prize than the Crown Prince of Faerghus for a lowlife like her? Plus, there was that defeatist attitude of hers. Whenever anything went wrong, she got all sad, impossible to be around. He wasn’t sure if it was genuine or if she put on airs just to make people comfort her, though given what he now knew, he suspected the latter. It always worked, too, especially on Dimitri. It was nauseating.

His strike shattered the training dummy in front of him. He sighed, spinning his lance’s butt onto the ground and rested himself against it. 

“Your form is impressive, but your control needs work,” a lower, yet still feminine, voice called to him. Edelgard sat on the low wall around the arena in the center of the training ground, a cryptic smile on her face, her white hair seeming to glow in the moonlight.

“Why thank you, your imperial majesty. I can’t help but admire your  _ form _ as well,” he said with a wink.

“Quite.” Sylvain smiled at the open disgust in her voice. Somehow it just made her cuter. “Tell me, Sylvain, what’s got you so upset? It’s plastered all over your sloppy execution, and the power that went into that strike. Not the sort one should use for training purposes.” She stood, approaching him.    


“Why? Does the dark, brooding look interest you?” He faked an intense, grim expression, briefly, before returning to his smile.

“Curiosity, nothing more, I assure you.” She stopped, just close enough to look him in the eye. “However, I did want to thank you for your help rescuing Flayn. Hubert tells me you handled yourself very well fighting alongside unfamiliar students. And you were quite the force to be reckoned with when we rescued Byleth.” Sylvain scoffed at her name, unable to stop himself. “Oh? That’s not the reaction I expected.”

“Sorry, that… that wasn’t directed at you.” He turned away, toward the shattered training dummy. “I just hate watching someone like her exploit my friend for his crest, that’s all.”

“Oh?” Her eyes perked up at that. “Exploiting, you say?”

“Yeah, she’s been after Dimitri for his position for a while. I’d just put the pieces together recently myself.” He sighed. “It’d just be so much easier if nobody had crests at all. Or if they at least didn’t control our lives this much. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“You know, I agree with you, Sylvain. If one looks into Fódlan’s history, it becomes apparent how those bearing crests are gifted extraordinary positions of power for no merit of their own, and those without them exploit others to attain the same opportunities for, not just themselves, but their offspring as well. It’s resulted in a cruel world where those without a crest-bearing lineage are treated as lesser, just for their blood.”

He blinked. “That’s surprising to hear from one of those crest-bearing nobles,” he said, forcing a smile. “Not that I’m one to talk.”

“Is it? I just care about my people, whether noble, common, crest-bearing or not. And it is not just the nobility maintaining this system of oppression. The church, certainly, has a hand in this as well.”

“That’s getting a bit dangerous, don’t you think?” Sylvain kept the smile on his face, but he studied her, wary of her openly heretical speech.

“I apologize, just thinking out loud more than anything.” She paused. “Are you unhappy where you are, Sylvain?”

“I… what?”

“With the Blue Lions, I mean. They don’t really seem to value you, whether in battle or as a person. And even I have noticed your disdain for Byleth.”

“What are you implying?”

Edelgard shrugged. “Nothing too far out of the ordinary. Garreg Mach has allowed students to change their house at any point for some time. I just think you might be a bit more welcome with the Black Eagles.”

Sylvain picked up his lance, turning away from her and resuming a combat stance. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

“We really do have to stop meeting like this,” Hilda said, resting her head against Claude’s arm, her eyes closed, as the two lay in the tangled sheets and blankets of his bed. 

“You say that every time,” he replied. She could hear his carefree smile even in the tone of his voice.

“It keeps being true. Not that I dislike this, of course, but people might get the wrong idea.”

“Who might? Marianne? So you don’t plan to stop leading her on then?”

Hilda opened her eyes. Claude kept smiling that breezy smile of his. “I’m not ‘leading her on,’  _ Claude _ . We’re just friends.”

“My mistake, I forgot how common it is for ‘just friends’ to go everywhere together and hold hands all the time.” He laughed.

She smacked him with her pillow, bouncing it off his face and onto the floor beside the bed. “What, do you think Mercie and Annette are secret lovers too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, to be honest, but no.” He turned to face her. “I’m just teasing anyway.”

“Yeah, well it’s not especially funny. Besiiiiides, it’s not like  _ we’re _ a thing either, you know.” She grinned at him, winking. “I’m more than willing to dump your ass any time, or maybe take you up on that offer to  _ grasp your neck _ .”

Claude’s eyes widened. “Whoa, there, let’s not get too hasty! No need to threaten my life over some teasing.”

She closed her eyes again. “Anyway, that aside, you’ve been awfully distant lately. Is something up?”

“Nothing in particular, no.” His smile had faded, and he sounded troubled. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming. And I don’t mean that mock battle at the end of the month, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, between Flayn’s disappearance last month, the Flame Emperor, the Death Knight, Byleth’s injuries, Monica appearing from nowhere, and that rebellion earlier this year, plus a few other things I’ve overheard, it just seems like something’s happening, and I don’t know what. It bothers me, you know? I’m the kind of guy that likes to be on top of things, but I feel like I’m out of my depth here.”

“You’re thinking too much,” she said, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, or rather, what she hoped was his cheek; she still refused to open her eyes. “Don’t you ever just relax?”

“Sometimes. But this is different. Between Edelgard, Hubert,  _ and _ Dimitri skulking around at night, I’m beginning to feel like my territory as the resident schemer is under attack.”

“Wait, Dimitri too? I always got the impression he was a boring stick in the mud.  _ I must do what is right for the people of Faerghus and justice and bladdidy-bladdidy-blah. _ You know, like that.” Hilda couldn’t help but giggle at her own impression.

“You’d think, but no. I caught him in the library around midnight about two months ago. Since then, I’ve been keeping an eye on him from time to time, even paying Yuri to follow him on occasion. I guess nightly excursions are a pretty common thing for him. I’d even suspected he was the Death Knight until the mess with Flayn. Though he hasn’t really done much all month. Just sat with Byleth.”

“Do you think there’s something going on with those two? I kinda get that impression sometimes,” Hilda said, snuggling further against him.

Before Claude could reply, a light tapping on his door startled the pair. “Um, Claude?” Marianne’s soft voice was barely audible through the door. “Do you know where Hilda is?”

The two stared at each other. Hilda shook her head. Claude frowned disapprovingly. “Uh, I haven’t seen her. Why do you ask?” Claude called out loud to her. 

“She wasn’t in her room. I was unable to sleep, so I thought I might talk to her if she was awake, but…” Marianne hesitated. “Well, her door was open, and she wasn’t inside, so I thought maybe you had seen her. And I thought I heard her voice just now, but I guess I was wrong.” Even through the door, the sadness in her voice was evident. “Sorry to bother you.”

Claude waited a few seconds until he was sure Marianne was out of earshot, then turned to Hilda. “So what’re you going to do now?”

Hilda stood, quickly putting on her uniform. “I’m gonna check on her of course.” 

“Fair enough. Do me a favor though. Say what you mean. Tell her how you really feel about her, whatever that is.” He smiled that breezy smile of his. “She’s too good of a person for me to let you keep hurting her like this, and trust me: I’ll be okay, whatever you decide.”

“I don’t exactly need your blessing,  _ Claude _ ,” she said back to him. “But thanks anyway!”

She slipped out of Claude’s door, closing it quietly behind her. She half-ran, half-tiptoed to Marianne’s room. She knocked. “Marianne? You awake?”

“Hilda? Um, just a second!” Hilda heard a crash and a thud, followed by a small “oof” from Marianne. She couldn’t help but smile. The door slid open. Marianne’s face peeked out from behind it. “Y-Yes?”

“I was just out for some late-night exercise and wanted to check in,” Hilda said with a smile.

“O-Oh?  _ You _ … were out for some exercise?” Marianne stared at her, confusion evident on her face. “Um, I can’t sleep, but I guess I’m okay, no need to worry.”

“Do you want some company? I’d be happy to sit down with you. We can complain about stuff that bothers us, maybe gossip a little, you know, the usual stuff!” 

“You don’t have to trouble yourself. I’m sure I’m no fun to talk to.” Marianne hung her head. Hilda wanted nothing more than to pull her into a hug right then and there, but she stopped herself.

“Nothing could be further from the truth! Come on, let’s chat for a bit.” Hilda pushed slightly against the door.

“If you want to,” Marianne said, moving aside.

Her room was sparsely decorated, signified as Marianne’s only by the flowers resting in watered vases atop her nightstand and dresser. A lit candle sat atop her desk, near which were two chairs, in which the two girls would often sit and chat when Marianne didn’t feel like leaving her room. Her bed was neat and tidy, evidently unused. Marianne pulled one of the chairs forward and sat, folding her hands in her lap, fidgeting nervously with her thumbs.

Hilda sat on the one across from her, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. “So, what’s got you up so late, Marianne?”

“Oh, I just… couldn’t sleep.” She shifted uncomfortably.

Hilda sighed. “You know I can always tell when you’re lying to me, right? You do this cute little pause in your sentences that just gives it right away.”

Marianne frowned, turning her eyes downward. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we don’t have to talk about it.” Hilda leaned back, resting a hand on her chin, thinking. “You could tell me about your day if you want.”

“N-No thanks, I’m more comfortable listening to you talk.”

“Oh, well then.” Hilda smiled at her. “I guess I can talk about stuff. Hmm, well the dining hall messed up my dinner today. I wanted the verona stew, but it was, like, way too cold! Barely lukewarm when I got it.” Marianne said nothing, so Hilda continued. “I mean, how hard  _ is _ it to make sure the stew is piping hot, you know? Like, was it just leftover stew from lunch? Cause that’s totally rude! Like, at least  _ try  _ and make a fresh dinner, right? Otherwise you’re just gonna get complaints! Even  _ I _ can do that right.” Marianne fidgeted. By this point, Hilda was just as angry as she had been at lunch. “I’m curious who was even  _ on _ kitchen duty today. Like it would have to be Hapi or Linhardt, they’re the only two who would be just  _ that _ lazy. Oh, and the worst part is, it wasn’t even that good! Everything was all soggy and gross, which, like, is normal for  _ stew  _ but it was even worse than usual, and like, nothing tasted right.”

“Um, Hilda?” Marianne muttered, keeping her eyes down.

“And there was way too much cheese in it.”

“Hilda?” Marianne looked up.

“Like, way too much cheese.”

“Hilda.”

“Like, it was almost solid because of all the-”

“Hilda!” Marianne shouted, then quickly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry too! Go on, Marianne, what were you going to say?” Hilda leaned forward, trying to keep eye contact with the blushing girl in front of her.

“Um, well, the truth is, I was looking for you earlier.” Marianne couldn’t keep up the face-to-face talk and lowered her head.

Hilda feigned surprise. “You were? Really? I had  _ no _ idea.” She hoped she was convincing enough for Marianne.

“Yes. I had something I wanted to say.” She hesitated, opening her mouth and closing it. 

Hilda had to fight to keep herself from grabbing her and squeeze-hugging her. “Well? What is it? I’m all ears, Marianne!”

Marianne’s blush deepened, and she turned her eyes away. “Um, actually, I… I don’t think I can say it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up, I…”

Hilda could see tears welling in Marianne’s eyes. She stood up, stepped forward, and reached out, putting her hand to Marianne’s cheek, and turned her so they were facing each other. Marianne’s eyes widened, the tears streaming down her face. “Whatever you want to tell me, it’s fine.”

Marianne stared for a moment, in shock from Hilda’s touch. “I…”

“Marianne, you can tell me anything.” Hilda smiled warmly at Marianne, hoping the expression carried the feelings she wanted to show.

Hilda watched as Marianne closed her eyes, inhaled, then exhaled, opening them again. “Hilda… I think… I think I love you.” Hilda’s heart skipped a beat. “I have for a while, actually. You’re always so kind, and I feel…” She hung her head again. “I feel at home when I’m around you,” she finished.

It was Hilda’s turn to stare, slack-jawed.

“Please, say something,” Marianne said, tearful. “Anything. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I promise… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Hilda tilted Marianne’s chin up, looking her in the eyes. “You’re so cute, Marianne.” She leaned in, planting a kiss on Marianne’s cheek. 

“So… you don’t…”

“I didn’t say that,” Hilda replied with a slight blush. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.” 

“Then I’ll just come right out and ask you. Do you feel the same?” Marianne asked, her voice trembling despite the confident tone she seemed to be trying to project.

Hilda paused.  _ So you don’t plan to stop leading her on, then? _ Claude’s voice echoed in her head.  _ Oh, to hell with you, Claude,  _ she retorted. She leaned forward again. She hesitated for a moment, then kissed Marianne’s soft, downturned lips. Marianne let out a squeak, but wrapped her arms around Hilda’s shoulders, not letting go even as Hilda leaned back, the brief kiss broken already. Marianne’s lips and cheek were marked by a pink splotch of Hilda’s lipstick. “Of course I do, Marianne.”

Marianne leapt to her feet, embracing Hilda, burying her face in her shoulder. Hilda, stunned, wrapped her arms around Marianne, holding her close, savoring this moment. She closed her eyes.  _ Sorry, Claude _ , she thought as she gently ran her hand along Marianne’s back,  _ she’s just too cute. _ She could feel Marianne sobbing in her arms. “I-I’m s-sorry,” she managed, “I’m s-so sorry.” 

“Huh? What’re you sorry for?”

“F-For… for bothering you like that…”

“You’re not bothering me at all, Marianne.” Hilda squeezed tighter. “You never could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things!  
> 1 - Sylvain's bit is ***FORESHADOWINGGGG*** for later. I don't dislike Sylvain, before anyone asks, I just wanted to examine him in a different light than usual is all!  
> 2 - It's mildly confusing here, but for future reference: Claude/Hilda/Marianne is my OT3, with Claude and Marianne being Hilda's partners but not necessarily partners themselves. It's a bit clearer later.   
> Also, yes, that last segment is a re-edit of my MariHilda scene titled Restless, which was cut originally but re-added when I decided to split ch. 8 into ch. 8 and 9. Writing is difficult okay :p


	10. At Gronder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Eagle and Lion happens. The Eisner siblings and Yuri provide commentary.   
> Kes (the author) questions her decision to write out the full thing like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief forward:  
> I'm not fixing the formatting on this one, I'm sorry, it's too looonnnnnggggggggg.

#  Chapter Ten: At Gronder

It had only taken a couple of days before Byleth was back on her feet. Everyone remarked on how quickly she had recovered, but she waved it off as “that old-fashioned Eisner fighting spirit.” In truth, in her weakened state, she’d found so much as lifting her arms difficult, so she’d refined the flow of magic she used to enhance her unarmed combat to instead make moving her limbs easier. It was taxing, and she was fairly certain she would be unable to cast any spells or fight in this state, but she could at least move around like normal, and for the moment, that was what mattered.

As soon as she was able, she resumed her teaching duties. Dimitri hadn’t visited her again after their disastrous conversation when she woke up, but she supposed that it was for the best. He remained the diligent, hardworking student in class and in combat drills, even if he avoided spending more time around her than he had to. And besides, she was in high spirits despite all of that; she had the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion to focus on.

Caiym had demolished them almost single-handedly in their initial mock battle when the two took up their positions, but Byleth had no intentions of losing this time. Or, more accurately, letting her students lose; Manuela had evidently been injured by the Death Knight last month, so because of that, along with Byleth’s injuries, Seteth and Rhea had forbidden any of the faculty from taking part, including her brother. With their biggest obstacle out of the way, Byleth figured she really just had to whip her students into a cohesive fighting unit.

Which was proving very difficult.

She paced around as the Blue Lions drilled against a few of Yuri’s rogues and the man himself, shaking her head in disbelief. She watched as Sylvain and Ingrid both charged headlong at a sword-wielding man, only to trip over each other and wind up on the ground, their opponent not having lifted his weapon. She glanced towards Felix and Dimitri, who paced around a rogue carrying an axe, and sighed audibly as Felix ran towards  _ Dimitri _ , ignoring the rogue between them, much to the prince’s surprise and horror. She turned to Annette and Mercedes, who had begun braiding their opponent’s long hair and beard, humming and singing to themselves, a goofy grin plastered on the man’s face, his bow discarded to the side. Ashe, Dedue, and Hapi, meanwhile, had formed something of a cogent strategy: Dedue threw his shield in front of each of their opponent’s lance thrusts, stepping around him with his motions, remaining largely immobile and immovable while Ashe knocked the man off-balance with arrows and Hapi chipped away at him with magic. She could have wept at the sight of their actual teamwork. Yuri, for his part, sat on the sidelines, smirking and laughing to himself. His role was to give orders to the rogues, though she’d made it clear he was welcome to participate if he wanted to.

As Sylvain and Ingrid began pushing themselves back to their feet, Yuri hopped off his perch atop the sidewall. He glanced around, then walked, slowly and silently, towards Dimitri and Felix, who were locked in a heated, albeit confused, duel as their intended opponent watched on, bemused and dumbfounded. All at once, so quickly Byleth could scarcely follow it, Yuri lurched forward, sword in hand. Felix’s weapon lay on the ground near its owner, who sat, stupefied by the sudden attack, and Yuri had the tip of his sword at Dimitri’s chin. “First rule of thumb: be aware of your surroundings, yeah?” He ran the blade along Dimitri’s jawline, forcing his head to tilt upward, then withdrew it and sheathed it. Behind him, Felix rose to his feet, taking up his sword. As Yuri walked toward the wall again, Felix charged, intending to take the man by surprise. Yuri leaned out of the way of Felix’s stab, rolling with the momentum, and with a flourish drew his own weapon. Felix growled and stepped forward, bringing his sword down in a diagonal slash. Yuri turned aside and ran the thin edge of his rapier along Felix’s own weapon, creating a loud, high-pitched, ringing scrape. “Adorable,” he said aloud. Felix hissed at him.

* * *

“Formations! Edelgard, Ferdinand, in front. Bernadetta, Hubert, behind them, Linhardt, behind them. Constance, Flayn, beside him. Petra, Caspar, Monica, maintain mobility.” Caiym’s orders carried over the cacophony of marching feet and idle chatter from the Church soldiers he’d gathered to be his class’s sparring partners. They stood in Alliance territory, less than three hours’ march from the church. Caiym had picked this field for its relative similarity to the terrain at Gronder and near proximity to the monastery, though it seemed to him his students hardly needed the extra practice. They carried themselves like soldiers now.

Edelgard and Ferdinand stood side-by-side, shields raised. Bernadetta peeked out from behind them. Hubert kept his eyes mobile, surveying the battlefield with his typical paranoia. Linhardt nodded off briefly, though Constance quickly roused him with a tap and a quiet, though verbose, “sorry.” Flayn looked enthusiastic, at least. Petra and Caspar stalked around the formation, Petra’s sword and dagger in hand, Caspar unarmed, though his axe hung from his back, ready to be drawn if needed. Monica kept herself low, dagger in hand, carefree grin on her lips. Caiym couldn’t help but smile for their progress.

_ Well done, _ Sothis said, stifling a yawn.  _ You’ve turned them into killers, just like you. _

Caiym’s smile vanished, replaced by a frown. She was right, of course -  _ I told you not to do this! _ \- but what choice did he have? He had been hired to teach them, and so he had taught them in the only way he could.

_ You know you can just speak directly to me instead of vaguely-not-addressing me like that, right?  _

__ _ It gets confusing. I lose track of which thoughts are mine, _ he responded silently. 

_ For the love of- How do you manage to lose track of whose thoughts are yours? Just how thick is that skull of yours, anyway? _

__ _ Thicker than average. I like headbutts. _

Sothis went quiet.

Caiym returned his focus to the students. “Break formation!” he called. “Neutral posture! Weapon down!” The students complied, standing at ease. He stepped forward, picking up the Sword of the Creator from its resting place atop a supply box beside him. He marched, stopping just short of his students, leaving the sword at a neutral position. “Ready posture.” The students snapped to attention before he had even begun saying the second word. He grinned. “Your objective: Work together to defeat your opponent.” He raised an arm, and the Church soldiers gathered around him, twenty of them between him and his students. “That opponent being me.” Each of the Black Eagles’ eyes widened. He extended his arm forward as he shouted, “Begin!”

* * *

Hilda wrapped her arm around Marianne’s shoulder, pulling the blue-haired girl against her. The two sat with most of the other Golden Deer students in the dining hall, though only Raphael had any food in front of him. Lysithea had brought a stack of magic tomes and pored through those, Ignatz was sketching something in his notebook, Leonie seemed to be performing maintenance on her bow, Baltie had his feet on the table and a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and Claude simply sat and smiled. Lorenz had balked at the invitation and refused. Hilda had no idea why Claude had gathered them all together like this if they weren’t going to  _ do _ anything, but honestly, she didn’t care. It was more time with Marianne.

“You two seem awfully close lately,” Leonie said, breaking the silence with a casual remark. 

“Me’n’Ig have always been close!” Raphael said between bites of meat. “Is that new?”

“I think she meant Hilda and her little girlfriend, pal,” Balthus said. “No judgment here!” he added quickly, seeing Hilda’s glare. “Happy for ya!”

Marianne’s blush had her as pink as Hilda’s hair. She started saying something, managed a high-pitched  _ eek _ , and closed her mouth again.

“So what if we are close? That’s between me and my Marianne.” Hilda kissed the thoroughly-embarrassed blue-haired girl on her cheek. 

“At the moment, it’s kind of everyone’s problem,” Lysithea said with a huff, looking up from her book. “The two of you have been all over each other. It’s almost as bad as Yuri and Dorothea.”

Balthus nearly fell over in his chair. “Whoa now, little Ordelia! No one is as bad as those two! Believe me, however bad they are up here, they’re insufferable in Abyss. Can’t keep their damn hands away from each other, yeah? Least these two stop at just this, Hilda’s not grabbing Marianne’s-”

“That’s quite enough of that line of conversation,” Claude interjected. 

“Besides,” Hilda said with a wink, “I prefer to leave at least a  _ little _ of what we do to the imagination.”

With the exception of Ignatz, who seemed occupied by his art, the Golden Deer turned their eyes to Hilda and Marianne. “H-Hilda!” Marianne sputtered. 

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t tease you,” Hilda said with a grin. “You’re just way too cute. It’s hard to help myself sometimes.”

“It might be worth it to try and learn,” Claude said. 

“Oh, hush, Claude.” Hilda stuck out her tongue at him. Marianne couldn’t help but giggle at the childish gesture.

“Is there any particular reason we’re just sitting in the dining hall instead of training?” Leonie asked, evidently regretting where she’d accidentally taken the conversation. 

“Leonie, please. Any professor trying to train us all at once might as well be trying to herd cats. Or trying to get Felix to open up about his feelings.” Claude laughed. “I thought it might be fun to just enjoy each other’s company. After all, you fight harder if it’s for someone you have a bond with. Or so I hear.”

“That’s rich, coming from you, pal.” Balthus took a drink from his whiskey bottle. “I mean, how many people here know the first thing about you?”

Claude’s eyes narrowed. A cold, calculating glare flashed over his face, just long enough for Hilda to notice it. Within a fraction of a second, it was gone, and the easy smile returned. “I’m not that much of a mystery, am I? I always thought I was pretty approachable.”

“‘Approachable’ ain’t the same thing as ‘genuine,’ yeah?” Balthus took his legs from the table, letting himself drop to a sitting position, standing almost immediately. “But hey, not my problem. Have a good night, pals.” He stepped through the door, letting it close loudly behind him.

For the first time in a long time, Claude frowned, his face unreadable.

* * *

Caiym, Yuri, and Byleth sat together on a cliff overlooking Gronder Field. Caiym was frowning, likely itching for combat. Yuri leaned back, casually brushing the hair from his face. Byleth, meanwhile, sat on a wooden crate, idly kicking its side. The wind whipped at them in their high perch, though from here they had a clear view of the battlefield below them. A hill sat in the center, and atop it sat a single ballista, the only siege weaponry visible on the field. A fort lay to the southwest of the hill, separated off by two northward-facing barricades. To the southeast, trees and thickets spotted the ground, providing shadow and cover. The northernmost point was split from the rest by a narrow river, though a pair of bridges offered passage to the other side, one to the west, one directly across from the hill. A stretch of forest filled the western half of the northern segment, directly beneath the cliff on which the Byleth, Caiym, and Yuri sat.

Byleth’s Blue Lions approached from the north, opting for a loose formation, headed by Dimitri and Dedue. Sylvain sat atop a horse, a great black stallion he’d named Beynon, resting the Lance of Ruin across his shoulders. Ingrid stood beside her pegasus, patting its mane, her lance resting in the saddle. Ashe and Hapi walked together, hand in hand, a smile on each of their faces, chatting, though Byleth couldn’t hear what about. Mercedes stood amidst a group of soldiers, carrying a bag likely full of medical supplies. Annette walked with the mages, though she had a large axe slung over her shoulder. Felix was only visible briefly before he slipped into the forest.

The Golden Deer came in from the southeast. Claude sat atop a wyvern, guiding the winged reptile forward, leading a line of cavaliers, including Lorenz. Lysithea stood amongst the mages, as Annette did, though she carried herself with a confidence and ease that Byleth envied despite her small stature. Raphael and Ignatz stood together, talking loudly. Hilda and Marianne approached together, though began to split apart. Hilda grabbed Marianne, kissed her on the lips, and walked toward a small cluster of axe-wielding soldiers. Marianne stood briefly, evidently dazed, before making her way to a group of healers. Leonie, astride a chestnut-colored horse, inspected her bowstring and lance, seeming satisfied. Balthus was nowhere to be seen.

Caiym’s Black Eagles, as was tradition, claimed the fort to the southwest. The foremost students were Ferdinand and Bernadetta, both seated atop the same tan horse, and Edelgard, who stood at the head of a host of soldiers, resting her axehead on the ground, leaning over it. Monica stood beside her, an odd, cryptic smile on her face, knife in hand. Linhardt walked with Caspar towards the field. The two boys embraced briefly and marched their separate ways, Linhardt standing behind Edelgard, and Caspar moving toward the eastern side. Hubert stood away from Edelgard, making his way between the barricades in front of the fort. Constance remained behind, far away from even Edelgard and Linhardt. Petra stood alongside Caspar, sword and dagger in hand and a bow on her back. Dorothea leaned against the wall of the fort, adjusting her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes, a sword sheathed uneasily on her hip. Flayn sat on the ground beside her, evidently psyching herself up for the battle to come. Byleth frowned. Caiym’s class was up two students, the Golden Deer down one.

A trumpet sounded, and the students and soldiers alike steeled themselves, tensing in unison.

* * *

Dimitri cautiously approached the bridge before him, his closest friend standing just a few feet away at his side. He raised a closed fist, signaling the lions behind him to hold position. He could make out Bernadetta scrambling her way to the top of the hill, mounting the ballista, as Ferdinand rode off, towards Hubert’s position. “Dedue!” he said quietly, keeping his voice just loud enough for his friend to hear. “Stand in front, shield high, eyes up. The Eagles have the hill.”

“Understood.” Dedue took a few steps and stood in front of Dimitri, shield ready. He hoped Ingrid was aware of Bernadetta’s position, vulnerable as she was to the assault in the air. She was a skilled flier, but a well-placed shot could send her tumbling to the ground. Even with the blunted weaponry, it would be difficult to survive that. He shook his head, putting it out of his mind. For now, getting rid of that ballista was what mattered. He frowned as a bolt sailed overhead, narrowly missing Dedue ahead of him and digging a trench across the ground. The slow, cautious approach wasn’t going to work, that much was evident. He glanced up at the cliff upon which Byleth sat.  _ What would you do here, professor? _ He smiled as a thought caught his attention.

“Soldiers! Advance!” Dimitri called, gesturing forward. “Rush the hill! Surround that ballista! Sylvain, follow up! Hapi, get Ashe close! If we can put him on the hill, maybe it’ll be enough to turn the tide of battle! Archers, fall back! Go!”

The blue-clad soldiers behind Dimitri charged forward. Bernadetta screamed something, firing bolts from her ballista seemingly at random, and her own troop of men advanced, their wave of crimson tabards clashing with Dimitri’s azure. Sylvain charged in, riding down enemy troops left and right with his relic. Even putting in a halfhearted effort as he was, the man was more than a match for any of the soldiers around him. Ashe appeared in a flash of light halfway up the hill, and, after clearing his momentary disorientation from the warp, ran toward Bernadetta, firing a hail of arrows.

“Mages! Ingrid! Circle around the other way, approach the fortress from the west!” Dimitri didn’t bother looking back. He ran forward, bashing one soldier with the shaft of his lance, throwing the man over his shoulder. With a roar, he leapt into the fray.

* * *

The Boar and his men were irritatingly loud; so loud, in fact, Felix could hear them across the field. Felix stalked forward through the trees, a bow sitting uncomfortably in his hand. He stopped, catching a glimpse of yellow through the treeline. Three of Claude’s men stood in his field of view, including Ignatz, who was flanked by a cavalier and an archer. They’d had the same idea Felix had: flank the enemy and sow chaos. He smirked. He nocked an arrow, held it briefly, then fired, watching it bounce off the cavalier’s helmet, knocking it to the ground. The man sighed, riding his horse away from the field, as Ignatz and the other archer turned and readied arrows at Felix.

“There!” the spectacled boy called, letting fly. The blunted arrow soared past Felix’s head, but Felix was already in motion, rushing out of the treeline with his sword in hand. Ignatz drew another arrow, but it was already too late. Felix kicked him in the gut, knocking the bow from his hand, and passed his sword through the other woman’s bow, cutting it in half. He sprinted forward, back into tree cover. He surveyed what he could see of the area before him. The treeline broke in a few places, though with Bernadetta down that was less of an issue than it would otherwise be. Claude, Marianne, Lysithea, and Hilda still remained in the clearing to the south, but it looked like the rest of the deer had joined the mess at the hill. If it was just those four, he should have no problem.

* * *

“There goes Felix,” Yuri said flatly, as Felix took a simultaneous attack from all four Golden Deer commanders in the clearing: Marianne’s lightning, Lysithea’s dark magic, Claude’s arrow, and Hilda’s axe, thrown with far more force than necessary. 

Byleth sighed. At least the chaos at the hill was going her students’ way. Dimitri had waded into battle and overwhelmed the Black Eagles with sheer brute strength alone, to say nothing of the relic-wielding Sylvain and indomitable Dedue. Ashe turned the ballista, focusing on the approaching Golden Deer charge. Beside him, Hapi kept pace with spells, following up each shot with a burst of miasma. Ingrid and the mages, including Mercedes, meanwhile, had engaged with Ferdinand, Hubert, and a handful of Black Eagle soldiers. Neither side appeared to be giving even an inch of ground. Besides Hubert, Ferdinand, and the now-defeated Bernadetta, none of the other Eagles had joined the fray, likely holding back until the melee at the hill turned in someone’s favor, planning to overwhelm the winning party and losing party alike. She frowned. She’d advised her students against doing exactly this for exactly this reason. 

“Your students are too reckless, sister,” her brother said, his expression neutral. “Did you teach them tactics at all?”

“I did!” Byleth stomped her foot, clenching her fists. “I taught them as well as I could! It is their fault for not putting it to use!”

“Is it? Look out there. Even Caspar’s staying back. You’re better than these excuses.”

She could feel the self-hatred welling in her chest. She stopped, closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, raising her hands to her chest, then exhaled, lowering them to her stomach. “Just wait and see,” she said aloud. Below them, the Golden Deer and Blue Lions armies clashed.

* * *

Dimitri wiped the sweat from his brow quickly, surveying the battle around him. Ashe had abandoned the ballista, overwhelmed as the hill had become. Dedue stood in front of Ashe and Hapi, the latter two alternating ranged shots beyond Dedue’s shield while the larger man held his ground against any enemies they couldn’t pick off. Sylvain had just begun to circle around, charging at Lorenz with the Lance of Ruin leveled. The Gloucester heir raised a shield, but it wasn’t enough. Sylvain’s charge unseated him from his horse, knocking him flying back.

“Black Eagles! Charge!” Edelgard’s voice rang over the din of battle. With a shout, Caspar, Petra, and Flayn, as well as the soldiers under their command, charged into the melee. 

Exactly as Dimitri had expected. The archers Ashe was to command, separated from their officer, had sat in wait behind the Blue Lions army, still at full strength and with full ammunition capacity. “Archers! Fire at will!” Dimitri yelled. A storm of arrows battered the charging army in red. As the Eagles halted their advance, unsteady, Dimitri charged forward, his soldiers following suit. Caspar ran out to meet him, drawing the axe from his back, and threw all his strength into a single downward chop. Dimitri raised his spear, placing the handle in the line of attack, and pushed, parrying the axe and knocking the axehead from its handle.

“Nice!” Caspar yelled as he tossed the now-broken weapon at Dimitri, raising his fists and taking a hand-to-hand stance. Dimitri spun his lance around, at once deflecting the axe handle and switching his grip to one that offered more reach. Caspar rushed in, and Dimitri backstepped, sweeping the lance in a wide arc in front of him, halting the boy’s approach, briefly, though Caspar moved to close the distance as soon as Dimitri’s spear was out of the way. Dimitri turned aside, barely dodging a heavy punch from Caspar, and took a step back. He jabbed with his lance, catching Caspar in the side, stepped back, and centered himself. Caspar rolled with the attack, came to his feet, and sprinted forward, throwing his arm back for a haymaker. Dimitri met sprint with sprint, though he leapt off the ground, using his momentum and the jump to toss his spear downward. It connected squarely with Caspar’s chest, though thankfully the magic dulling that had been placed over everyone’s weapons kept it from piercing through him. Caspar dropped with a small  _ oof. _

Upon landing, Dimitri picked up his spear, just in time to throw it in front of a strike from Petra’s sword. She hopped backward, dropping to a low stance, digging her off-hand dagger into the dirt to slow her momentum. She pivoted, using the dagger as a fulcrum, and came out running, throwing her sword into a mighty downward chop. Dimitri stepped back to dodge, though the tip of the blade sliced clean through the pin holding up his shoulder cape, which fell away into the fight behind him. Unrelenting, Petra stepped forward again, bringing the sword in her right hand up, then dropped again into her low stance, slashing at Dimitri’s legs. He stepped away again, and she pivoted on her dagger again, though this time, as she completed the arc, she tore her dagger from the ground and leapt, spiraling through the air, sword slashing towards him. His back to a barricade and unable to dodge, Dimitri twirled his lance in front of him, hoping against hope the rotation stopped even one of the attacks without destroying his lance. No luck. Petra’s slash knocked the clumsily-held lance from his hands. It landed, point-first in the ground, around ten feet from them. 

“I will remove you!” Petra yelled, crossing her arms over her chest and preparing an arcing slash at Dimitri. Time seemed to slow around him. He couldn’t move backwards. The arc of her attack would ensure any lateral movement would get caught as well. He had just one option, and it was a gamble. Dimitri dropped to his left, falling prone, barely in time to watch as Petra’s sword cut the spot where he’d been a fraction of a second ago. He rolled towards her, pushing himself to his feet. 

As he stood, he clumsily drew the sword from his hip. Though only a decorative officer’s sword, he was at least trained in its use, and it would serve as a decent last-ditch weapon. Petra rolled backward and to Dimitri’s right, sheathing her swords with the motion, and drew her bow from her back. She nocked an arrow and fired in the same motion; though the shot was clumsy and flew wide, it did serve to pressure Dimitri, keeping him off balance. She quickly fired another three arrows, forcing him to keep back. She’d positioned herself between him and his lance, he realized. Not that it mattered. He was still armed, even if it was a less-familiar weapon. He charged forward and Petra fired again, this one more measured. Dimitri turned the arrow aside with his sword, taking care to steady the blade and keep it from being carried by its momentum. Petra readied another arrow, backstepping, though taking care not to move too far, lest she get caught up in the fight between Ferdinand and Ingrid’s forces. Dimitri picked up the pace of his advance, deflecting Petra’s second shot. She paused a moment, then threw her bow at Dimitri, a tactic that seemed to be a favorite of Caiym’s students. Dimitri slashed at it, knocking it aside, and kept going, the distance closing quickly. Petra drew her dagger and threw it. The blade collided with Dimitri’s left shoulder, harmlessly, not slowing his charge at all. 

In a flash, she drew her sword, leaping to the side of Dimitri’s heavy swing. She leaned in, collecting her dagger in her left hand again, cutting for Dimitri’s knees. He leapt over the slash, halfheartedly throwing his sword at her, and landed beside his spear, which he tore from the ground with a spinning motion. Petra advanced quickly, readying another wide slash with her sword. Taking advantage of her lowered guard, Dimitri charged forward, shoulder-first, his lance just forward enough to allow for a quick jab should he need it. Petra kept charging, unable to stop her momentum, and slashed, earlier than she’d been expecting to. Dimitri countered with a shoulder-check, tossing Petra off her feet. He followed up quickly with a thrust from the lance, connecting with her chest, taking the wind out of her with the force, though otherwise leaving her unharmed. He spun his lance to a vertical position and leaned on it, catching his breath.

* * *

Byleth’s heartbeat refused to slow down, no matter how many deep breaths she took. Even from a distance, watching Dimitri fight enthralled her. He was incredible: quick-thinking, strong, surprisingly fast, handsome…  _ Er, commanding, _ she corrected herself. She’d long-since lost focus on the rest of her house, choosing instead to watch the house leader in his duels with the Black Eagles students. She wished dearly she could be a part of the battle, or at least had a spyglass. 

“Well, well,” Yuri began with a smug grin, “that took an interesting turn, huh? Tell me though, is that thing where they throw their weapons an Eisner family special, or just a thing  _ you  _ do, Caiym?”

“That would just be him,” Byleth replied before her brother could speak. “I am unfamiliar with weapon handling, and father only ever uses a lance, so he is also reluctant to cast his main weapon aside. My brother, meanwhile, believes in using everything as a weapon.”

“Everything  _ is _ a weapon. I taught them well.”

“I taught mine better,” she said, unable to suppress a smug smile from creeping across her face. 

Caiym frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe. It’s not over yet.”

* * *

“We’re losing, Edie.” Dorothea kept her eyes forward, attention fully on the battle at the hill. “Petra, Bern, and Caspar are all down for the count, Hubie and Ferdie are losing ground, and you haven’t sent out even one of us magic users.” She paused. “Well, you sent out Flayn, but she’s hardly a combatant, healing aside.” 

“I know what I am doing, Dorothea,” Edelgard responded with a slight frown. “Hubert and Ferdinand are merely drawing them back, then I will advance and lay waste to Ingrid and Annette’s forces. You and Constance will bolster the attack on the hill once the rest of the Golden Deer join the fray, giving our forces much-needed magical support. Monica will take up Petra’s job of patrolling the exterior. I had this planned all along.”

“That’s great and all, Edie, but Dimitri’s only lost Felix, I think, and the Deer are really only better off for not having Lorenz.” Dorothea flipped her hair out of her face. “No matter how you look at it, we’ve lost the advantage.”

“Losing the advantage doesn’t equate to losing the battle,” Linhardt cut in, stifling a yawn. “Besides, Flayn alone is keeping our soldiers standing. That hill isn’t getting taken any time soon.”

Monica sat beside the fort, balancing her dagger on her middle finger, her expression one of supreme boredom. Dorothea had never felt so in tune with anyone before.

“I am sorry that my worthlessness has proved such a hindrance that you would keep me from the fight entirely,” Constance said with a shaky smile. “I assure you that I will make every effort to improve my feeble stature in the future.”

Dorothea sighed.

* * *

“Listen, Mr. Leader Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re kiiiiinda losing.” Hilda stretched her arms behind her head. “I don’t care, and I’m happy you’re not making me do anything,” she added quickly, “but I thought you might care.” When Claude didn’t respond, she continued, “I mean, we’re down Ignatz and, while we’re better off for not having Lorenz on the field, the Lions are only down Felix and the shredded remains of his dignity.”

Marianne stifled a laugh. “That’s a bit rude, Hilda.”

“I still don’t know what he was thinking, trying to attack all four of us like that,” Lysithea said, arms folded. “I knew he was arrogant, but not that arrogant.”

“That hardly matters now,” Claude chimed in. “It looks like the battle at the hill is at a stalemate, more or less. We’re losing ground there, but that’s fine. The ballista is empty and the archers are preoccupied. Everyone! Follow my lead!” Claude leapt onto his wyvern’s back and took flight, soaring further south, then turning towards the Black Eagles’ stronghold.

* * *

“That’s it, Edie!” Dorothea yelled. “I’m not sitting around anymore. You can back me up or not, I don’t care. Come on, Lin!” She took up her sword and sprinted towards Hubert and Ferdinand, motioning for her battalion of mages to join her. With a shrug, Linhardt followed suit, Constance at his heels. 

Monica’s eyes brightened. “Ooh, is it fighting time at last?” She stood quickly and ran off after them.

“Dorothea, Monica, wait!” Edelgard called after them. “I expect this from Ferdinand, not you!” With a heavy sigh, she took up her axe and followed their charge, motioning for her armored soldiers to follow, hoping against hope that they would overtake Dorothea quickly.

* * *

Byleth watched as the armored tide of soldiers collided with Ingrid’s cavalry and Annette’s thoroughly-exhausted mages. A wave of fireballs soared overhead, igniting the ground around the Blue Lions soldiers, hitting a few of them. Hubert and Ferdinand took the opportunity to fall back to Linhardt, who set about healing them. They had few wounds, but the healing magic had a temporary invigorating effect as well, allowing soldiers to fight on past the point of exhaustion. It was only a temporary fix for the drudgery of battle, but still one that could turn the tide against her. Monica stalked around the outskirts of the skirmish, leaping in and knifing Blue Lions soldiers periodically.

Caiym smirked. “It’s over.”

He was right, of course; with the healing from Linhardt, Hubert and Ferdinand would be easily able to rejoin the battle and, combined with Edelgard, Dorothea, and maybe Constance, turn the tide against Ingrid. However…

“Never count my students out, brother.”

A burst of white light centered on Mercedes covered the field. Each of Byleth’s soldiers were bolstered by the same invigoration as Hubert and Ferdinand. With a flourish, Ingrid swooped down and knocked Monica to the ground. Byleth’s smile widened, and Caiym furrowed his brow.

* * *

Hilda watched as Claude landed in the empty stronghold, staring out at the distant battle between the Eagles and Lions. “They really didn’t have to make this mock battle’s name feel just that much worse for us. But they did it anyway.”

“I can’t believe you made me run all this way for nothing!” Hilda groaned. “I’m exhausted!”

“Then stay at the stronghold,” Lysithea huffed. 

“I-If that’s an option, then I will too…” Marianne said quietly. “I’m afraid I’m not much use to you out there.”

“Quite the contrary, Lady Edmund. You’re the cornerstone of my brilliant scheme.” Claude’s eyes twinkled.

“M-Me?!” Marianne said, blushing in that classic, adorable Marianne way. Hilda had to fight to stop herself from pouncing on her then and there.

“Naturally. If you can hit Flayn with a silence spell, the Lions will start taking the field. That’s when we swooce in to take the hill.”

“Swooce?” Hilda blinked.

“We’ll have Lysithea warp you to the summit, Hilda, then I’ll flank from above with my bow. Marianne can disrupt the spellcasters, and Lysithea…” Claude glanced at her and shrugged. “Lysithea will do what she does best. Which is magic.”

“I like this plan,” Lysithea said with an evil grin.

“Yeah, well I hate it,” Hilda muttered. “You’re making me  _ work. _ ”

* * *

“Well now I have no idea who’s in the lead,” Yuri said, laying on his stomach as he and the professors watched the chaos below. “I miss when half of them were just standing around. It was easier to follow.”

Byleth couldn’t disagree. The three-way clash at the hill had gotten so hectic, she wasn’t sure if even the people participating could tell what was going on. Sylvain kept up his assault on the Golden Deer and Black Eagles alike, though his mounted passes were becoming less and less effective over time as the enemy forces thinned out and scattered. Leonie rode along the outskirts, taking potshots with her bow, occasionally pausing and dismounting to pick up arrows from the field around her; distant as she was from the fight proper, no one seemed to bother to approach her. Raphael stood in the center of the madness on the hill, shrugging off blows from swords, axes, lances, and arrows alike, and returning them twice as hard with his own axe. Dimitri stood amidst the sea of soldiers, standing taller than most of them, looking every bit the heroic knight of legend. Each sweep of his lance was another enemy down. Dedue, Ashe, and Hapi maintained their formation, although Hapi had long-since exhausted her offensive magic, forcing her to fight awkwardly with an axe Dedue had secured for her, and Ashe had switched to a lance he’d picked up from a fallen soldier, his supply of arrows empty, and his position too precarious to pick up more as Leonie did. Flayn, her healing stymied by Marianne’s silencing spell, ran around frantically, flailing her arms to deter incoming attackers. 

With a flash of light, Hilda appeared atop the hill, next to Dedue, and brought her axe down with all her might into his side. Byleth watched as the taciturn man dropped to a knee. He struggled to get his shield up, but to no avail. Hilda’s second attack connected with his forehead, knocking Dedue out cold. Ashe and Hapi tried to overwhelm Hilda, but were no match for Hilda’s strength and ferocity. With a single wide sweep, she took down the two lovebirds. Sylvain doubled back around, charging towards Hilda, but was cut off by an unexpected rush from Leonie, who had put away her bow in favor of a lance. She unseated Sylvain and rode past him, doubling around on the side of the hill closest to the Blue Lions’ starting position. Dimitri, now the only standing Blue Lion on the hill, took a defensive posture, scanning the area around him. Byleth leaned forward.

“Well damn,” Yuri said with a laugh. “That turned around quickly. Now neither one of you is in the lead.”

Caiym glared at him.

Below them, Ingrid, Annette, and Mercedes were being driven back by the Black Eagles’ charge. Constance had been eliminated at some point, and Byleth watched as Ingrid dodged a spell from Hubert only to knock him off his feet with a swooping jab. Despite the retreat, it seemed, Byleth’s students still had the upper hand, or at least weren’t  _ losing _ for the moment. Suddenly, she watched as Ingrid swerved, rocketing at Claude and his wyvern as the Golden Deer leader flew above the hill, circling like a bird of prey. Ingrid stood on the saddle of her pegasus and leapt, causing Byleth’s heart to sink. Ingrid landed on the back of Claud’s wyvern, much to his surprise, and threw him to the side with a push from her lance. His would-be deadly tumble to the ground was slowed by the aura that prevented any of the students’ attacks from being deadly, and Claude was gently carried away from the battlefield, next to a still-fuming Felix. Byleth pumped her fist slightly, a look of determination making its way onto her face. Ingrid jumped from the wyvern onto the back of her waiting pegasus. 

Yuri laughed. “What a way for the consummate schemer to go down,” he said. “I’m gonna go ahead and say this means I’m better than him.”

* * *

Dimitri stood atop the hill, the lone Blue Lions commander remaining. He stared down Hilda, Raphael, Leonie, Lysithea, and Marianne. Five of them against one of him, to say nothing of the soldiers on both sides, as well as the remaining Black Eagles forces, Flayn having been taken out by Marianne some time ago. It didn’t look like a fight he could win, not alone like this. Still. He had to try.

Dimitri quickly took stock of the battlefield. Hilda stood next to Raphael. Neither seemed particularly keen on moving. Lysithea and Marianne had remained on the outskirts of the battle, wisely avoiding diving headlong into the clashing soldiers. Leonie had taken up Sylvain’s old role of circling around the battlefield. It wasn’t five-on-one, not really. It was two-on-one, then one-on-one three times. That didn’t make it sound more manageable. 

Dimitri steeled himself, then charged Raphael and Hilda. The two hefted their axes, with Raphael stepping in front, taking a wide stance to block Hilda from Dimitri’s attack. Undeterred, he kept going, angling himself to shoulder-check the armored man into Hilda, hoping it would be enough to give him even the slightest edge. Raphael threw his shield between them, but it was irrelevant. All Dimitri needed was to push him back, not take him out yet, so he maintained the momentum, slamming his body into Raphael’s shield. He felt a surge in his blood as the Crest of Blaiddyd in his veins pulsed to life. With tremendous, inhuman strength, Dimitri tossed Raphael aside like a rampaging beast, flinging the confused man off the hill and onto his back. Quickly thanking the Goddess for his luck, Dimitri threw his lance in front of him, blocking a heavy chop from Hilda. He pushed upward, attempting to disarm the pink-haired girl, but her strength nearly matched his. The two remained locked, axe against lance, though he could tell she was weakening. He threw all his strength behind the push, leaning forward and thrusting his body upward with a roar. The force of his movements forced Hilda to take an unsteady step backwards. He stepped back, regaining his footing. He could feel the rush of adrenaline beginning to fade, but he wouldn’t let himself tire out. He wouldn’t let simple  _ exhaustion _ be the cause of his defeat, not while Byleth was watching. He charged forward, spearpoint first, then midstep changed the angle of his attack, spinning full circle; a desperate maneuver to be sure, but one he’d seen work wonders before. 

* * *

As Dimitri’s awkward, spinning attack made its way towards her, an epiphany struck Hilda.  _ You know, if this hits me, I won’t have to keep fighting. Plus I can probably convince Marianne to baby me for a little while if I fake an injury! _ She lowered her axe somewhat, and leaned into the attack.

* * *

Dimitri’s lance hit home, sending Hilda tumbling to the ground.  _ Three to go _ , he thought, steadying himself. He made way to charge for Leonie, who rode through a line of Black Eagles soldiers, but a scream of “ **_I AM FERDINAND VON AEGIR_ ** ” stopped him dead in his tracks. 

* * *

They were winning. The Blue Lions’ soldiers were dropping before their sheer numbers, though Ingrid, Mercie, and Annie were proving to be something of a challenge to take down. Still, their victory was all-but assured. Dorothea smiled. She flicked her wrist, and a bolt of lightning arced from the clear sky into a group of soldiers, followed by another, though she arced that one towards Ingrid. Exhausted and dazed, Ingrid made no move to dodge, seemingly relishing the chance to leave the field. Dorothea waved a little at Ingrid, then took up her sword and made her way closer to the frontline. Edie marched ahead of her. Her armored corps had been cut down significantly in number by a wave of magic, but with the enemy mages depleted, Edie had a definite shot of winning this all by her lonesome. 

She glanced toward Ferdie. He sat atop his horse, motionless, allowing Edie to pass him. Dorothea tilted her head.  _ Ferdie, what in the world has gotten into you? _

“All cavalry! With me! We will be the ones to take that hill!” he bellowed. 

“Ferdinand, don’t!” Edie shouted. It was too late.

“Victory shall be mine!  **_I AM FERDINAND VON AEGIR_ ** !”

Dorothea stared, dumbfounded, as Ferdie took off with fully half of the Black Eagles’ strength in their current engagement, charging towards the hill. Edie joined her in her confusion, staring blankly after him. “What the  _ fu- _ ” Dorothea managed before Annette’s axe hit her across the chest.

* * *

Byleth and Yuri slowly turned towards Caiym, the spectacle of Ferdinand spectacularly and single-handedly losing the battle for his forces playing out beneath them. Caiym stared, his eyes uncharacteristically wide, mouth agape. 

“You taught them well indeed, brother,” Byleth said, not bothering to suppress her amused grin. “They have remarkable restraint.”

* * *

Dimitri watched, stupefied, as Ferdinand’s cavalry overwhelmed Lysithea, then Marianne. Leonie rode away, then turned wide, circling around to meet his charge. Dimitri, sensing an opportunity, pointed his lance forward. “Take them down, every last one!” he called to his remaining soldiers, charging to follow up their approach. Ferdinand’s horsemen were overwhelmed quickly by the flanking infantry charge, unseated and thrown into disarray. Ferdinand himself matched Leonie in combat, though Dimitri’s sudden arrival and subsequent mighty swing at his horse rendered the match one-sided. With a yell, Leonie planted her spear into Ferdinand’s chest, sending him tumbling from his saddle and onto the ground. Dimitri thanked her for her help with a thrown spear, catching her in the side, unseating her as well. He turned, approaching the dazed nobleman, and scooped up his lance. “Mind if I borrow this?” he asked, a chipper and conversational tone to his voice. “Thank you so much.”

He turned away, marching towards the last engagement on Gronder Field. Annette and Mercedes stood side-by-side. Mercie mainly stayed behind her smaller friend as Annette hefted her enchanted axe, fighting on par with the soldiers around her. Edelgard stood across from the two, Linhardt behind her: the last holdouts on the Black Eagles side. 

“It’s over, Edelgard!” Dimitri called. “Only you and your soldiers remain.”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorted. “You have a scant few men and those two. I’m still confident I can take down all three of you.”

Annette leveled her axe at Edelgard. “Oh yeah? Well… uh… No you can’t!” 

Mercedes smiled behind her. “Tell her, Annie!”

“Did you all forget I’m here?” Linhardt asked with a slight frown. “Because I could use a nap, and…”

“No naps, Linhardt. You’re my backup.” Edelgard spun her axe like it was a toy. “We’re winning this.”

“Fine, fine.” Linhardt pursed his lips.

Edelgard raised her shield, readying for the attack. Dimitri hoisted his lance. Annette lifted her axe. Mercedes, out of magic and untrained with weaponry, offered her friend a reassuring pat on the back. Linhardt, in a similar position, shrugged and stared blankly forward, readying a final burst of wind magic. For a moment, no one moved. The air itself felt still. Dimitri let out a roar, breaking the stillness. All four of them moved at once.

There came a ringing of metal on metal. A  _ woosh _ of wind. A crackle of lightning.

The four collapsed, seemingly in unison: Edelgard struck down by a combination of Annette’s axe and Dimitri’s lance, Dimitri topped by Edelgard’s axe, and Linhardt felled by the backswing of Annette’s weapon. 

Mercedes stood, alone amongst all the students. Out of magic. Unarmed. Confused. Above all, victorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddddddddddd this one took days to writeeeeeee  
> I hope it's more fun for you all than it was for me (:  
> Some notes!  
> -Petra's fighting style is based on the Farron Greatsword from Dark Souls 3, based on a mix of her using a knife in FEH but a greatsword (sword of Zoltan) when fought in AM route.  
> -I tried to explain healing magic as more in line with a shot of adrenaline rather than *just* healing, to explain why it works in mock battles.  
> -Speaking of mock battles, it's really hard to write weapon-based fight scenes where no one can die.  
> -Actually it's hard to write large battle scenes and I dread the return to Gronder now.
> 
> Also, we're nearing the end of my backlog! I'm done up to chapter 13 so far, so you'll be caught up with me soon!  
> As always, thank you for reading!


	11. Remire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days darken leading up to Caiym's mission in Remire, despite the celebrations after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Caiym makes a choice he'll come to regret.

#  Chapter Eleven: Remire

Byleth’s elation at her house’s victory lasted for several days, even after Claude’s celebratory “fairly regular feast in the dining hall.” Dimitri was certainly grateful for the sudden shift in her mood, even if he felt a little sheepish for how their victory came about. She was much prettier when she smiled. 

He’d hated leaving her to cry on her own when she awoke, but what choice did he have? For the sake of the dead, he couldn’t allow himself to be with her, and he certainly couldn’t allow her to fall for him, not as he was. He still deeply regretted that shameful summer night alone in his room after Lonato’s rebellion, where he’d lusted after his own imagination of her body. 

But there was no harm in enjoying her smile.

Byleth stood behind her desk, gesturing to a diagram she’d drawn, crudely but clearly, on the blackboard behind her of a fortress. Her neat, clear handwriting labeled various important aspects of the building, including likely spots for defenses. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eye. “These outer ballistae are the biggest problem for an attacking army,” she said, indicating them with her finger. “Can anyone tell me why?” As Annette’s hand shot up, Byleth smiled, and Dimitri’s heart fluttered despite his protests. “Not that your enthusiasm is unwelcome, but do you mind letting someone else answer this one? If you are the only one learning, it discourages others from trying.”

“Awww, okay.” Annette lowered her hand.

“Rest assured, Annette, your contributions are valued.” She smiled warmly. To Dimitri’s surprise, Sylvain raised his hand. “Ah, yes, Sylvain?”

“They’re not the largest problem. Ballistae are better suited for breaking down castle walls. A catapult or trebuchet would deal more damage to an attacking army just due to the size of the projectile fired. A ballista bolt is deadly, but if the target’s not particularly large, it’s harder to hit.” He leaned back in his chair. “We proved that pretty well back at Gronder.”

Byleth frowned. “While true, the objective of a ballista in countering a siege is more disruption than destruction. In addition, the fortress diagrammed here lacks a catapult or trebuchet, so arguing for their effectiveness here is invalid. Siege weaponry when applied to the defense of a fortified location is, quite simply, the most critical factor in determining a battle’s outcome.”

Sylvain shrugged. Dimitri furrowed his brow at his friend’s callous attitude, but said nothing. An awkward tension sat in the air for the rest of Byleth’s lecture.

* * *

For the first time that he could remember, Caiym was afraid.

The plague in Remire marked the first mission he’d been given he couldn’t solve with his sword and the first place he’d ever come close to calling “home” he would be forced to take life in. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to taking care of the horses today, why he’d been driven enough to fill a bag with carrots and lug it down to the stables as a treat for the horses. 

He gently stroked the mane of a pale white horse, the child of Marianne’s horse-friend Dorte he’d helped her deliver some months ago. The young stallion had been born without pigment and with pink eyes, a condition Marianne had called “albinism.” Caiym immediately took a liking to the little guy. He’d named him “Mars,” after some long-forgotten war god or war hero or something to do with a war somewhere; it had been a suggestion from Byleth, and only the Goddess was privy to the vast repositories of historical information Byleth had in her brain.

_ I am not! _ Sothis mumbled. 

_ Oh right, _ Caiym replied. He’d forgotten Rhea’s odd phrasing from earlier that week:  _ May the goddess Sothis protect you. _ He wished deeply he’d never heard that; or more accurately, he wished  _ Sothis _ had never heard that. She was briefly perplexed and alarmed, but lately had become emboldened by this, declaring herself the goddess and responding on the rare occasions he blasphemed aloud or in his own head. It was the most unbelievably frustrating thing he’d ever experienced.

_ The feeling’s mutual, trust me, _ Sothis muttered, evidently half-awake. 

Putting aside the logistics of her sleeping while being a divine presence within his head, Caiym reached into the bag of carrots beside him, but rather than a crunchy, disgusting orange root vegetable, his hand met another person’s. He snapped his eyes beside him, but relaxed as he saw Marianne.

“Oh, I’m sorry, professor,” she said quietly, withdrawing her hand. “I thought you knew I was here. I um, I said ‘hello.’”

“Sorry. Was lost in thought.” He smiled what he hoped was a gentle smile at her. “Hello, Marianne.”

“Um, are you here to feed the horses too?” she asked, keeping her eyes away from his.

“Yeah.” He reached for a carrot, handing it to Mars. The young foal bit at it feebly. 

“You’re still pretty sickly, aren’t you?” she said, smiling at Mars as she pet his neck. “It’s okay. It’s always okay to be who you are.” 

“You should take your own advice,” Caiym said, stepping back away from the stables.

Marianne smiled, somewhat bittersweetly. “I know. Hilda tells me that all the time. She’s who I learned it from.” She took a moment to watch as Mars finished the carrot. “Everyone’s always so nice to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I’m bad luck, but…”

“You’re not.” He watched as Mars trotted off towards his mother. “Even if you were, why focus on it? You deserve happiness too.”

“I… Sylvain tells me the same thing, actually. And your sister. And Ashe. Lorenz too. Oh, and Dimitri. And Hilda…” 

“Then stop doubting yourself.”

“If only it were that easy,” she said wistfully. “I’m trying, though. Little by little. One day, maybe, I’ll get to a point where I can be around everyone and feel more confident. But it takes time. And even if I don’t get there, as long as I’m able to be with people who I love and who make me feel better…” Marianne smiled, clutching her hands in front of her chest. “Maybe that will be enough.” 

Caiym couldn’t help but smile himself. “You’re right. Sorry for being callous.”

“Not at all. You’re learning how to talk with people, the same as me.” She smiled, shyly, but even so, it was still a smile. She took out another carrot, dangling it over the stable wall. Dorte approached, biting into it.

Caiym patted the horse’s nose, his brow furrowed in thought. “I guess I am.”

_You're really bad at it,_ Sothis interjected.  


* * *

After her students left the lecture hall, Byleth remained behind, sitting at her desk, grading their quizzes from that day. Ordinarily, she would’ve done this in her room with a cup of coffee, but she planned on having coffee with Hilda and Marianne later that evening after helping Mercedes in the greenhouse, so working here seemed more efficient and less likely to tempt her into indulging earlier than she wanted to. She was unbelievably thankful for that coffee plant. It had been a fortune to buy, but constantly having her favorite beverage available without going into as much debt as her father often did certainly had its benefits.

“Professor, may I intrude?” Dimitri’s voice broke her concentration. She glanced up to find him standing past the rows of desks, his tall frame illuminated by the fading daylight behind him, a sign of winter’s inevitable arrival. 

“By all means,” she replied with a smile, “Although I have to ask why you elected to not remain behind after the lecture.”

“Ah, that.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “This was… something of a last-minute decision.”

Byleth motioned for him to come closer, setting down the papers and her quill. “Is something the matter?”

Dimitri grabbed a chair and sat across from her. “It’s just that, well,” he paused, thinking. “I wanted to apologize on Sylvain’s behalf for earlier. I’ve no idea what’s gotten into him lately. Rest assured, I think I speak for everyone else when I say we appreciate your hard work and enthusiasm.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Seeing him this close briefly reminded her of her awakening in the infirmary, how he’d run away after she botched her attempt to hide her feelings towards him. Embarrassment flooded into her all at once as she remembered what she’d tried so hard to push out of her mind. “Um, Dimitri, if I may, I have a question for you.”

“Certainly, Professor. Is something wrong? You seem troubled.”

“Well, last month, when I woke up,” she began, watching as Dimitri tensed, “you left the room somewhat hastily after I, um,” she blushed. “After I inadvertently indicated possible romantic feelings for you. Since then, I have noticed that you seem to be avoiding me more often than not. I just wished to apologize if I made you terribly uncomfortable with me. If that is the case, I understand your hesitation to be around me.” Unconsciously, she grabbed her left arm, digging in her nails slightly. 

“Oh, is that what you think? No, I assure you, I understand that you meant nothing by what you said.” He turned away from her. “It’s true that I have been somewhat distant with you, but…”

“I apologize. Forgive me for overstepping my place. Ah, if I am making you uncomfortable, do not feel the need to remain…”

At once, he was standing, his hand clutching her right arm. “You’re hurting yourself!” He yanked her hand away from her left arm. She could see blood on her fingertips. “Is that why your arm is bandaged so often? I had no idea!” He was speaking quickly, the concern apparent in his voice. 

She could only stare at the blood on her hand.  _ How long was I doing that?  _

“Professor! Please, say something!” Dimitri put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Byleth, please!”

“S-Sorry, I had no idea I was… I did not mean to, I…”

Dimitri looked at her a moment, then, all at once, pulled her into an embrace. Caught off-guard by the sudden contact, Byleth couldn’t stop herself from crying.  _ That’s twice this has happened _ , she thought bitterly. As her sobbing shook her body, Dimitri’s embrace tightened. 

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she managed. Her formal affect was gone; she no longer cared to maintain it. “I-I do this all the time, I j-just can’t help it. Y-You must think I’m so pathetic.”

“Quite the opposite,” he said, his voice quiet. “I think you’re incredible. You’re very strong to be able to carry on as well as you do, even though you’re hurting as you are. Even if you make mistakes sometimes, that doesn’t change how wonderful you are.” 

_ You’re just saying that _ .

“Even if you don’t believe me, Byleth, it’s true. You’re a wonderful person and I…” He hesitated. “I really value you.” He released her from his arms, holding her by her shoulders. Her eyes met his. For once, neither of them looked away. They locked their gaze on one another, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

“I um. I should get back to work,” she said finally. “Thank you, Dimitri. For everything. Once again, you went above and beyond to cover for my weaknesses.”

“I don’t think of it that way. I just wanted to help someone I treasure. That’s all.” He turned to leave, stopped, turned back to her. “Though, Professor. Please, stop hurting yourself like that. It pains me to see you do such things.” With that, he walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving her in a quickly-darkening room.

* * *

Caiym walked beside Monica, who balanced herself on the railing of the bridge leading to the chapel, hopping between the battlements. He frowned, but by now he knew better than to remark on her thrill-seeking. The sunset was striking against the backdrop of reds and golds atop the trees, as if the whole of Garreg Mach were surrounded by a fiery veil. Even he had to acknowledge that it was beautiful.

“I’m surprised you’re not stopping me, prof!” Monica said cheerfully. “Everyone always gets so flustered when I do this.”

“I see why.” He stopped, turning to her. “It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, but that’s half the fun of it!” She laughed, hopped forward a step, catching herself before she lost her balance. She stuck her tongue out at Caiym upon seeing him tense up to catch her. “Made ya look!”

He frowned. “Please don’t die before the mission.”

She cackled. “Yeah, wouldn’t want us to be down a student for that, huh?”

“It’s not that. You’re my student, so I value you,” he said simply, leaning over the railing and looking down into the chasm below.

“You’re a weird one, you know that?” Monica sat down, facing over the railing as well. “You met me, like, a month and a half ago, but here you are, saying you  _ value  _ me?”

“I do.” 

“Why?” She leaned forward, looking into his eyes.

“You’re my student,” he replied, matching her gaze.

She frowned. “You really  _ are _ weird,” Monica mumbled, leaning back up, making to stand. 

At once, her legs slipped out from under her. Her eyes widened in shock. She reached out her hand, grasping for the railing, but she missed. Caiym grabbed for her, but he was too late. She flailed for his arm, futilely, falling with a scream into the chasm.

Caiym closed his eyes.

“You really  _ are _ weird,” Monica mumbled, leaning back up, making to stand. 

At once, her legs slipped out from under her. Her eyes widened in shock. Caiym wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her off the railing, setting her on the ground beside him. “I told you it was dangerous.”

She stared, motionless. “You have no idea what you just did, do you?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“I saved my student,” he replied. “Nothing more.”

* * *

As the autumn days grew shorter and shorter, Byleth found herself unable to focus on anything but Dimitri, possibly a combination of her lack of a particularly interesting mission this month and the embrace they’d shared. He’d grown a bit less distant with her since then, resuming his former dutiful, attentive demeanor, and had even taken her to dinner as a show of gratitude for her help teaching swordplay to the monastery orphans, for which Byleth was at once grateful and apprehensive. It was nice to have their old dynamic back, but being around him of late was quite difficult. Intoxicating, almost. She couldn’t help herself. His kindness, and surprisingly comforting arms, had enraptured her even as his odd habit of keeping distance pushed her away. For the moment, however, she refused to push their relationship further. Though, perhaps when he graduated…

She stopped herself from getting her hopes up. 

Instead, she focused on the task in front of her: pulling weeds from the monastery grounds. Usually, professors were expected to assign their students to the task, but Byleth had found it somewhat relaxing to do it herself. Not to mention, the exercise was good for her still-weakened body. She knelt down in the grassy area in front of the classrooms, pulling weeds and savoring the cool autumn air. Her brother had left that morning for his mission with their father, or she’d have dragged him out here as well. 

She was beginning to feel somewhat distant from Caiym and Jeralt lately. For a change, she didn’t blame herself; instead, she blamed their increased workload. Lady Rhea had been pushing more and more of the church’s duties onto her father, and Caiym had doubled down on the Black Eagles’ training after the loss at Gronder. Not that she thought he needed to, given the circumstances of her victory. Still, it was a victory all the same.

Byleth’s eyes snapped upward as she heard footsteps approaching her. Her eyes met Ingrid’s as the blonde girl stepped off the cobblestone walkway in front of her.

“Oh, professor! My apologies for startling you,” Ingrid said, stopping in her tracks. “I just couldn’t help but notice you were doing the weeding yourself today. I thought maybe you might like a hand.”

“Ah, if that is all, then certainly!” Byleth replied with a nod. “I can do this myself, however the company will be appreciated.”

Ingrid knelt beside her, wrapping her hand around the stem of a particularly thick weed. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said, easily yanking the weed from the dirt with a strength that made Byleth jealous. “You know, professor, you’re certainly an odd one.” 

“I am? I do not really think of myself as odd,” she said, pulling out a weed herself, albeit with considerably more difficulty.

“Whether you see yourself as that or not, you are. At times, I feel as though you’re lost in your own head, miles away from the world around you. And even when you smile, you always look so sad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look truly happy.” Ingrid pulled another weed from the ground. “I thought maybe winning at Gronder would change that, yet even though you looked a lot happier, it was still as though you wouldn’t let yourself truly be happy.”

Byleth sat motionless. “That is… certainly something to say to someone while picking weeds.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it is quite understandable. I apologize if my demeanor is upsetting to you. If it helps, think of it as a similar issue to my brother’s problems with demonstrating emotion.” She offered a halfhearted smile.

“I really didn’t mean to offend you, professor! I’m so sorry.” 

“I am not offended or upset, believe it or not,” she said. “This is just not what I was hoping to speak about, that is all.” 

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps we could discuss next month’s ball, or the White Heron Cup?” Ingrid said, sounding somewhat hopeful.

“White Heron Cup? What is that?” Byleth asked, grateful for the change in subject. 

“Oh, it’s the inter-house dance competition held every year at Garreg Mach!” Ingrid replied with a smile. “Each house chooses a representative, and they compete with one another by dancing! Judges choose the best one from among them, and the winning house gets… some sort of prize. Food, I hope.”

“I see,” Byleth said, pulling out another weed. “And the representatives are chosen… by the house?”

“Well, by the professor, but if you want to hold a vote to decide ours, I’m sure everyone will be all for it.”

“You sound quite excited for this, Ingrid. I suppose this means you want to be our house’s representative?”

Ingrid opened her mouth to reply, then stopped as the two heard heavy footsteps approaching on the cobblestone. Caiym marched towards them, a despondent, grim look creeping into his usual expressionless face. “Professor Caiym! Welcome back,” Ingrid greeted.

Caiym ignored her, turning to Byleth. “Come with me, sister. Now.”

* * *

Not a one of the Blue Lions spoke a word as they trudged along the dirt path to Remire. One look at the despondent, horrified faces of Caiym and his students had shaken each of them more than they cared to admit out loud. While Caiym and Jeralt were sparse on details, evidently, their mission to Remire had been a complete disaster. Tomas revealed himself as a dark mage and an enemy of Garreg Mach in league with the Death Knight, and Remire was, if Caiym was to be believed, all-but annihilated. They’d managed to evacuate only a single person, a young girl, before Tomas ended the lives of the remaining villagers with a wave of his hand, exploiting whatever sickness he’d created there. Still, Byleth and her students had been asked to search the village and surrounding area for survivors or more enemies.

They saw the smoke before they saw Remire, a black column staining the sky and darkening the ground. Beneath it, embers glowed, spots of flame danced, and patches of the village that had once stood remained defiant against the backdrop of death and ruin. The smell of charred flesh and worse things assaulted Byleth’s nose. She fought to keep herself calm. 

She led her students closer, but stopped as she saw the bodies near the village gate. Charred, blacked, desecrated, yet still barely recognizable men and women alike lay scattered around the dirt. Faces she recognized, if not by name, then by sight, burned themselves into her vision. Memories flooded her as she looked around; here was a man she’d purchased food from less than a year ago, here was a kindly farmer who’d slipped her some of their vegetables for a meal, here was a woman she’d briefly talked about books with, here was a child she’d given some of her brother’s sweets to without him knowing, here was a friendly church soldier who’d always smiled at her as she walked past him, here was one of her father’s recruits that had helped her train her martial arts. 

She felt Dimitri’s hand on her shoulder. “Don’t look away, professor,” he growled. “Remember their faces, each and every one, lest they die forgotten.” He brushed past her, Dedue in tow. She followed, her eyes drifting around the horror in front of her. 

“This is a nightmare,” Sylvain said quietly from behind her. “Are you sure there’re any survivors, professor? I can’t imagine anyone living through this.”

“Shut up,” Felix hissed. “Your cynicism isn’t helping anyone.”

“Be that as it may, it  _ does _ look bleak,” Ingrid said. 

Annette and Mercedes gripped one another’s hands as they walked. Annette trembled. Mercedes muttered prayers. “W-We can’t let ourselves get hopeless,” Annette said shakily. “There’s got to be someone here we can save.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Hapi said. “For your own sake. It’s fine to be optimistic, Sunshine,” she added quickly, seeing Felix’s glare, “I just don’t want you getting hurt if you’re wrong.”

“That’s enough for now, Hapi. Please,” Ashe said, his eyes downcast. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but…”

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry.” Hapi frowned.

Byleth walked a few paces behind Dimitri, her eyes darting around what was left of Remire. Bodies lay scattered about, soldiers and civilians alike, some burnt, some with apparent wounds, none moving or breathing. A staccato thundering drew her attention, the sound of a house collapsing onto itself from the flames. 

“This is monstrous,” Dimitri said, hatred dripping from every syllable. “The ones who did this cannot be allowed to survive.”

If Byleth heard him, she made no indication of it. Her eyes shifted around, scanning for any sign of life, any indication that someone,  _ anyone _ , had made it out of this hell, but there was nothing. There was no one.

The Lions scoured the area, but to no avail. Not a soul remained within the corpse that was Remire. As the sun began to set, the troupe moved away from the village, silent as the ruin they had just left.

A cough interrupted the still silence, not from one of the students. Lying burnt, beaten, and breathing at the side of the road was a young child, no older than ten, visible only by his bright shock of red hair. Byleth knelt, checked their pulse.  _ Alive _ . She picked them up, gently, tears streaming down her face. 

They had saved one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for skipping the battle at Remire. After Gronder I had no desire to write fight scenes for a looooooooooooooooooong time. I've been focusing on character interaction since then, tho I plan on having a couple good fights soon!  
> Also, Hapi's nicknames for the Blue Lions were a fun challenge to figure out. Given that she'll be more prominent in the fic once I start getting closer to part 2, I'm excited to roll out the other nicknames, especially Felix's.
> 
> Oh, and, I'm posting chapter 12 today too. I have to take tomorrow off posting, so you get it a day earlier!  
> As always, thanks for your support :D


	12. A Light in the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth, Leonie, and Felix help teach some orphan children with familiar names swordplay. Caiym grapples with his feelings. Dimitri awakens from a nightmare and goes for a short walk.

#  Chapter Twelve: Light in the Aftermath

The monastery took no time at all to return to normal, with merchants, knights, and students going about as though Remire had never happened. Byleth couldn’t blame them, exactly, but it was rather difficult seeing the monastery like this when she still felt like she was scouring the flames for survivors. The Blue Lions and Black Eagles, too, remained trapped as she was. She was certain it was worse for Caiym and his students; they had seen firsthand what had happened, after all, while Byleth had only dealt with the aftermath. 

She’d found some level of solace, however, in her training sessions with the monastery’s orphans. She and Dimitri had off-and-on taught them swordplay in hopes of better defending themselves. She considered it somewhat ridiculous; Dimitri had asked her out of the blue one day, despite her own lack of skill with weaponry, but the two had managed to cobble together some sort of training regimen that she supposed made sense. She’d tried asking her brother for help, but as gifted as he was with a sword, he was pretty worthless at teaching young children. She found herself smiling as the memory of her stern-faced brother calling one of them a  _ donkey _ came to mind. So she and Dimitri had kept it just the two of them. Though today, given Dimitri’s dark mood, it seemed it would just be her.

Byleth stepped into the nearly-empty training hall. She waved a short greeting to Felix and Leonie, though neither paid her much heed, locked in combat as they were. She made her way to the rear wall, to the box of training swords. After a few seconds of struggling to lift it, she gave up, frowning. She glanced back to the two sparring partners. Neither one so much as glanced her way. With a frown, she turned back to the box. Without Dimitri here to carry it, she had no idea how she was going to even pick it up. At least at first. She’d already used magic to enhance her strength while sparring and fighting, this would, theoretically, be not much different. She stood in front of the box, placing her hands on the handles. She concentrated, drawing forth a small amount of energy from within herself, focusing it on her limbs. She lifted, and the box flew up, faster than she’d anticipated, leaving her hands. She dropped, tried to cover herself, but it was far too late: training swords pelted her from above like some sort of violent hailstorm. She let out a scream, a mix of fear, pain, and frustration. Felix and Leonie stopped their sparring and stared.

“Would you like some help, professor?” Leonie said through a stifled laugh.

Byleth blushed, hiding her face in her hands. “Yes please.”

With Leonie and Felix’s help, Byleth, now thoroughly embarrassed, made her way to the monastery’s orphanage. She couldn’t help but smile as she saw it. 

A small boy, no older than ten, stood outside, bouncing a ball against the side of the orphanage and rushing to catch it. Even without seeing his face, Byleth knew by his dark hair and the strength with which he threw the ball who it was.

“Hector! It is so good to see you again!” Byleth called, waving.

Hector looked up at her and smiled, waving back. “Auntie Byleth!” he greeted. “Wait here, I’ll get the others!” He ran into the short, stone building, letting the door close behind him.

“So should we just set this down here?” Leonie asked, hefting her side of the weapon box slightly. 

“Ah, yes, that would be fine,” Byleth said. “You two are welcome to stay if you like, however, please feel free to resume your training.”

“Are you kidding, professor? I’d never miss a chance to try and watch you train these little hellions,” Leonie said with a grin.

“I… suppose I have nothing better to do right now,” Felix added. “Besides, you’ll need an actual swordsman here for this, right?”

“It would certainly help, yes,” Byleth said, smiling.

“Fine. I’ll help.”

Hector, along with his friends Eli, Lyn, Ninian, and Nino, as well as Roy, the young boy she’d rescued from Remire, ran out of the orphanage. 

“It’s good to see you, Auntie Byleth!” Eli called, suppressing a small cough as he brushed a lock of red hair from his eyes.

“We missed you, Auntie Byleth!” Lyn added, tying her dark green hair back into a ponytail. “We wanted to train with swords more.”

“I don’t think I’m that good with swords,” Nino said. “But I’ll keep trying my best!”

“I’m not either, but it’s really fun to play with Auntie Byleth,” Ninian said, smiling softly.

“I guess,” Lyn replied. “I just like training with swords.  _ Yah! _ ” She mimed a sword slash at Byleth, who let out a gasp and pretended to be hurt. 

“Careful, Lyn,” Hector said. “You don’t wanna hurt Auntie Byleth, do you?”

They laughed.

“Are you all getting along with Roy?” Byleth asked, kneeling by the box of practice weapons. 

“Of course we are!” Lyn said.

“Yeah, Roy’s our boy!” Eli added.

“He’s a little sad, but he’s really fun!” Hector added, hitting Roy’s shoulder with an open hand. 

Roy winced. “Hector, I told you, the burns still kinda hurt,” he said.

“Sorry!” Hector said with a smirk.

“They seem pretty fond of you,” Leonie said, kneeling beside Byleth and helping her grab the swords for everyone. 

“I suppose. Oh, everyone! This is Leonie, with the orange hair, and Felix, with the black hair. They are also students, like Dimitri! They shall help you practice today.”

“Hmph,” Felix grunted.

Lyn stared at him. “I bet I can kick your butt,” she said.

“I’ll take that bet.” Felix glared at her.

“Where’s Uncle Dimitri?” Eli asked, picking up a training sword and waving it around.

“Ah, he was in a rather dark mood.” Byleth handed a sword to Hector, who immediately tried to hit Felix in the shins. Felix stepped away. “It seems he did not want company.”

“That’s too bad,” Roy said.

“Yeah,” added Nino, “I hope you two didn’t break up or something!”

“Ah- Break up?” Byleth blushed. “No, um, we are not…”

Hector beamed. “I’ve heard about this! My big brother used to say he and his wife were ‘going through a rough patch’ when they had to spend time apart.”

“I hope it’s a short rough patch,” Ninian said, hugging Byleth.

“Me too,” Leonie snickered.

Byleth could only stare.

“Are you all done teasing her?” Felix growled. “I doubt she wants to be insulted by insinuations that she loves that boar.”

“What’s in-sinew-ay-shuns mean?” Hector asked.

“Bore? Uncle Dimitri’s not boring,” Nino said, tilting her head in confusion.

“No, ‘boar,’ bee-oh-ay-ar. Like the animal,” Felix corrected.

“Ohhhh. Uncle Dimitri’s a boar?” Eli said, putting his hand to his chin. “Does he turn into a boar?”

“I’ve heard of stories about people turning into dragons,” Ninian said, “but not  _ boars. _ ”

“No, I mean he  _ acts _ like a boar!” Felix shouted.

“Oink, oink,” Leonie added, and the orphans laughed.

“Settle down, everyone,” Byleth said, trying to shake off her embarrassment. “Everyone grab a sword!”

Byleth matched them off, one against one. Eli would face Roy. Ninian would face Nino. Leonie would face Hector. Lyn would face Felix. She’d intended on pairing Leonie with Felix, but Lyn insisted, and Byleth knew better than to try and stop them.

“Okay, it has been quite some time, everyone. We will begin with basic forms. Felix, Leonie, feel free to offer advice!”

Leonie grinned. “I’m actually not the best with swords myself, if I’m being honest. Always preferred lances.”

“So it’ll be good practice for you, too, then,” Felix said, rolling his eyes and twirling his practice sword. 

Leonie shoved him lightly. “Hey, don’t forget who was kicking your a- er, butt earlier at the training ground.”

“And who might that be, again?” Felix hissed. “As I recall,  _ I _ was winning.”

“Are they always like this?” Eli asked, frowning.

Byleth smiled apologetically. “I do not see them together often, but Felix is like this with almost everyone.”

With that, she led the orphans in a handful of practice drills, eventually allowing them to “spar” one another, though she took care to keep them from making contact. She couldn’t keep from laughing as Lyn, with surprising skill, overwhelmed Felix, knocking the sword from his hand. Leonie, for her part, seemed to be trying to emulate Jeralt’s teaching style, bringing a smile to her face. 

After an hour or so, she had Felix and Leonie help her clean up, carrying the box of training swords with them. The three waved goodbye to the children, and made their way back to the academy grounds.

* * *

Caiym had no idea how he’d ended up in Bernadetta’s room, sitting across from his skittish student and two of her teddy bears, but here he was. Her room was relatively sparsely decorated, featuring only her bed, her chair, her desk, this low table that necessitated sitting on the floor, and the hideous flower-print tablecloth. A piece of cake sat in front of each of them.

“More tea, professor?” Bernadetta asked, hefting a flowery teapot.

“Yes, please,” he said, and she filled his cup. Despite the fruity scent emanating from within, Caiym added a few spoonfuls of sugar, stirring the drink thoroughly before taking a sip.  _ You never change, do you?  _ Sothis sighed.

_ Nope. _

“I’m sorry to put you out like this.” Bernadetta lowered her eyes to her own cup. “I’m glad you’re humoring me though.”

“You wanted company. I wasn’t busy. It’s fine.” He took a bite of cake.

“Y-yeah. It’s just that, well, after Remire things got really tough, you know? Staying in my room all the time is great, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I do get lonely, you know? And you’re one of the few people I feel comfortable around, and it’s just easy to talk to you, and-”

“Bernadetta. Breathe.” Caiym cut her off.

“Right. Yeah.” Bernadetta took a few deep breaths. Her anxiety always reminded him of how Byleth had been in her youth. Like Byleth, he just wanted to help her, however he could. “Okay. Um, I guess I was just saying thank you.”

“For what?”

“For, um, I dunno, being you, I guess? You’re always so nice to me, and I just want to make sure you know that I appreciate it.”

He smiled. “You can show your appreciation by coming out of your room more often.”

She paled. “I wouldn’t go that far! Or are you just teasing me again?”

“I am,” he said.  _ You’re a jackass,  _ Sothis said, rolling her eyes. “Even so. You’re making progress. It’s good to see.”

“It’s all because of you, professor,” she said, smiling down at her teacup. Seeing her smile like that made him smile back. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to pat her head as he had with Byleth. 

“Bernadetta,” he began. She looked up at him. “Can I hug you?”

“Um, what? Why ask this now? What’s your motive? Are you going to kill me?” She stood, blushing and flailing her arms.

“Bernadetta. Breathe.”

She took a deep breath. He stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Um, if you want to hug me, I guess you can,” she said finally.

“Okay.”

He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She fidgeted, awkwardly, but then reciprocated, hugging him to her. “I’m sorry, professor,” she said.

“For what?”

“I… I don’t even know, really.”

“Then don’t be.” Gently, he put a hand to the back of her head and stroked her hair. 

* * *

_ They claw at me, endlessly, their faces upturned, mouths open in a silent scream. They reach for me, their eyes pleading, saying more than their wordless shrieks ever could. Their words have become a part of me now. I hear them even from their endless silence. I always hear them. “Avenge us. Kill them. Remember us. Kill them. Avenge us. Kill them.” My father climbs above them, his hands grabbing for my throat. He stares me in the eye, unblinking, unfeeling, uncaring. “Avenge me,” he mouths. “Avenge me.” His head falls away, his body burning away before I can reassure him. They claw at me. Glenn. My stepmother. The knights. They want the heads of those who did this. “Please,” I say. “I can only do so much.” But they don’t care. They can’t avenge themselves. It falls to me. I must. I must avenge them. To ease their suffering… and mine. I take a step, their hands reaching for me, their silent screams lingering on their faces. The fire burns around me. I am in Hell. I take another step. My father’s burnt body crumbles to ash. It must be this way. I must move forward. I cannot avenge them if I stay still.  _

__ _ “Thank you, Dimitri,” her voice rises above the crackle and roar of the flames. “Thank you for everything.” She is standing there, smiling her sweet, sad smile.  _

__ _ “Professor!” I call to her. I struggle to move towards her. She extends her hand. The fire around her rises. I take her hand. “Please, hold on!” I cry. She burns. She burns as they did. Tears begin to fall. Fire consumes her. Her dark eyes stay locked to mine. _

__ _ “I’m sorry,” she says. “You must think I’m so pathetic.” She is gone, consumed in the fire.  _

Dimitri snapped awake, lying in a pool of sweat. He sat up, wiping his brow with his forearm.  _ Another nightmare. _

Dimitri stood, stretched, and dressed hastily. Sleep would not return, he knew. It never did. And after Remire, the nightmares had been even more common, even more horrid. This was the first time they’d featured Byleth, though. 

He stepped out, quietly closing his door. He frowned in the direction of Sylvain’s room as a loud moaning and squeaking of the bedframe spilled out into the hallway, but he had no desire to cross that particular bridge this evening. He made his way down through the noble dorms, noting the open doorway to Claude’s room, then down the stone stairs, out to the commoner’s rooms on the monastery grounds proper. He walked towards the training ground, his pace leisurely. The cold, still autumn night almost reminded him of home. Perhaps he would take tonight simply to walk, to enjoy the chill in the air, to reminisce about home. If, that is, the dead would let him.

He paused as he walked by Professor Byleth’s door. Light flickered from under her door, indicating her own restlessness at this late hour.  _ It’s not my place to check _ , he thought, even as he knocked on her door. “Professor?” he said aloud. “Are you awake?”

“Dimitri? Um, yes, I am awake, but…” Her voice, even muffled as it was by her door, was like music to him. 

“Is everything okay? You’re up rather late.”

“Everything is fine, but…”

“May I come in?”

She let out a small  _ eek _ , barely audible through the barrier between them. “Um, yes, but please wait for just a moment.”

“Are you hurting yourself again?” He didn’t mean to sound as accusatory as he did. “Sorry, that was callous of me.”

“Not at all, you were…” - She let out a small grunt of apparent exertion - “... worried. I understand.” The lock on her door clicked, and she pulled one of the doors open. Her dress was somewhat disheveled, as though hastily donned. Four candles were lit, one beside her bed, one at her desk, and two atop her dresser. Her bed was in slight disarray, as though someone had been laying on top of the blankets. A stack of papers sat on her desk, red ink visible even from this far away. Her tea table sat in the corner, chairs tucked underneath it, the tablecloth he’d given her folded neatly atop it. “Um, did you need something?”

“Nothing in particular, no,” he said. “I just noticed you were awake, that’s all.”

“Ah, yes. I have been unable to sleep quite as well after… after Remire.” 

“Actually, it’s the same for me,” he replied. “Um, were you… dressing, just now?” he asked before he could stop himself.”

“Ah, yes, I was.” She blushed. “Despite my difficulty with it, I had tried to sleep earlier, and I suppose I just never bothered to dress myself when I gave up on rest.”

“I see.”

A brief silence hung in the night air.

“Would you like to come in?” “Do you mind if I come in?” They spoke at once. Byleth laughed, and Dimitri’s heart fluttered.  _ Goddess, what a beautiful woman. _

“Let me try that again. Would you like to come in?” She took a step back, away from the door. “I can put on tea, or coffee if you like.”

“Tea, please. Chamomile, if you have it.” He stepped into her room.

She pursed her lips. “I believe so, though it has been some time since I last checked. None of my usual guests drink it, and I prefer coffee.”

Dimitri laughed bitterly. “I think coffee is just about the worst thing to drink when you can’t sleep.”

“It depends,” Byleth said over her shoulder as she dragged the tea table forward. “If you have no plans to sleep, it is certainly useful to keep you awake.”

“Ah, professor, let me get that for you!” Dimitri offered, moving towards her.

“No need, though I appreciate the offer,” she replied, bending forward to pull two of her chairs out. “This is something rather standard for me.”

Within moments, she had the table set up, the chairs on opposite sides, the tablecloth laid out atop, and a pot of tea heating up on her miniature stovetop. “You are quite deft at preparing for a tea party, professor,” Dimitri said, stifling a laugh.

“I have adapted,” she replied with a smile. “Hilda and Marianne have a tendency to drop by unannounced at times, so I have had to learn how to do all of this quickly for their sake.”

He laughed. “Ever the considerate teacher,” he said.

“To be honest, I rather enjoy hosting tea parties, and doing things for others in general,” she said, wistfully looking out the window. “I often feel rather burdensome, so anything to take away from that is…”

“You’re no burden.”

“Ah, I-”

“You’re no burden, professor,” he repeated. “You’re a wonderful teacher, always kind and patient with us even when we don’t deserve it. You make up for your inexperience with enthusiasm and gentleness. You’re clearly very knowledgeable, and the way your eyes light up when you talk about something that interests you is infectious! It makes me want to know more, to hear  _ you  _ tell me more. The way you immediately saw to Ashe after the fight with Lonato all those months ago, your exhilaration at the feast when we won Gronder… When you smile, the world lights up with you.”

Byleth blushed. “Dimitri, I…”

He couldn’t stop himself. “Professor. Byleth. I… you are someone valuable to me. No, more than that. I… It’s… You’ve become someone integral to my life, like I can’t imagine a world without you in it. When I say you’re valuable, I mean… Byleth.” He swallowed.  _ Damn it all.  _ “Byleth. I think… I think I love you.”

She stared, the dark red of her cheeks offsetting the deep blue of her hair and eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. 

“Ah, I’m-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I feel the same way,” she said meekly, cutting him off. “But… We shouldn’t…”

“No, but…” 

She leaned forward. He moved to match. She closed her eyes, and he his. Their lips met. Time stood still. Nothing else mattered but her. The two stood, and he pulled her to him, holding onto her as if his very life depended on it, clutching her dress, her shoulder, clinging to whatever he could hold as her arms rested atop his shoulders. She pressed herself against him, and he tightened his embrace, one hand on the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. As they lost themselves in each other, the teapot whistled behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY GOT THERE WOO HOO.
> 
> A return to action in about 3 chapters? For now, please stick with me as I continue writing character interactions and quieter moments. OTL
> 
> Also, I'd realized before this chapter I'd sort of underused Leonie and Felix, two of my favorite characters, and wanted to fix that. I apologize to Leonie haters (except no I don't).
> 
> As always, thanks so much for the support!!


	13. Brighter Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth tries to figure out what to do with herself after her moment with Dimitri. Caiym spars with Catherine, then pursues romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back baybee!  
> There's two chapters of backlog left. After Monday, one-a-day posting will likely be over, though if possible I'd like to keep it up through part one at least!

#  Chapter Thirteen: Brighter Day

The hours after Dimitri had left her room had seemed an eternity to Byleth, who lay in a giddy stupor in her bed atop the covers. Everything after their kiss was a haze. He’d said good-night before leaving, that much she remembered. She touched her fingers to her lips, as if she could recapture that moment and hold it for just a bit longer, even a second longer. Even now, as the morning sun crept through her windows, she remained entranced. Her heart ached, longing for more of him, for all of him. It had taken all of her willpower not to beg him to stay, to be with her. She knew better, of course; the kiss was dangerous enough as it was, given their circumstances, but she craved more. She craved  _ him. _

A harsh trio of knocks snapped her out of her daze. She sat up. “Um, hello?” she called. 

“Sister. You’re sleeping in late. Are you okay?”

“Fine, brother,” she replied, standing. “Is it not Sunday? I thought I had a free day.”

“It is.”

She approached the door. “Then there is no issue, is there?”

“Rhea wants to see us this afternoon.”

“So not right now?” she asked.

“No.”

She unlocked her door, and instantly he snapped it open, forcing her to step backwards. He grabbed her left forearm, yanking it towards him, pulling her forward, and turned her to look at her arm carefully. “Oh. You weren’t…”

“What the  _ absolute goddamn Hell  _ do you think you’re doing, you fucking  _ brute _ ?” she yelled, slapping him across the face. There was no weight to the slap, of course, and she hurt herself far more than she could possibly have hurt him. 

He tilted his head at her. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Grabbing me like that was a little rude, brother,” she said, fighting to regain her composure as she nursed her still-stinging hand. 

“Sorry.” He smiled. “That was vulgar. Never heard you talk like that.”

“You grabbed my arm after nearly knocking me out cold with my own door. Excuse me for being a little vulgar.” She narrowed her eyes. “You seem to be all smiles today.”

“You look happy.” He paused. “You  _ looked _ happy, now you look angry.”

“That… Well, I had a good evening,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush.

“I’m glad,” he replied, smiling again.

“You seem different,” she said, matching his smile.

“Do I?”

“Yes. You seem to be showing your emotions a little better.”

“Do I?”

She rolled her eyes. “And yet you still do that thing where you repeat the same short sentences,” she said with a slight giggle. 

“Do I?” His expression remained flat.

Byleth pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

“A lot.” She swore she could see a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

She sighed. “I appreciate your concern, brother,” she said, sitting on her bed, “but there is no cause for worry, I assure you.”

“Okay.” He paused a moment. “I only worry because I care about you. I hope you know that. And… it’s okay to be who you are.”

She froze. “Wh-what brought that on?”

“Something Marianne said. I want to be there for you, but I’ve never known how. It’s vexing.”

“Thank you all the same, brother. You help, in your own way.” 

“I guess that’s enough then.” He offered another smile. “Enjoy your day, sister.” He turned and walked out. 

She smiled. “It’s nice to see you like this,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

* * *

Not really knowing what to do with herself, Byleth had found her way to the greenhouse after her quick breakfast of bread and jam. She hummed quietly to herself as she tended to the plants, watering them slightly and checking for ripe vegetables among them, plucking what few were there and placing them in a wicker basket to bring to the dining hall. She gazed at the flowers, smiling serenely, taking in the colors and scents as if for the first time. Perhaps it  _ was _ the first time she’d truly paid attention to them. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this happy, this at peace. It wasn’t the kiss - wasn’t  _ just _ the kiss, she corrected - that had her feeling this way, though. She’d never felt so valued, so loved. Dimitri had given her not just his love, but the freedom for her to love herself.

“You look happy, professor.” Sylvain’s voice made her jump, accidentally scattering the fresh vegetables on the greenhouse floor. “Ah, let me help you with those,” he said, dropping down and grabbing a few.

“Oh, I can gather them myself,” Byleth replied, crouching to pick up vegetables as well. “I appreciate the assistance, however!”

“Think nothing of it. What’s got you all smiley?” he asked, tossing a pepper into the basket.

“Ah, nothing. I just had a good evening, that is all.” She blushed, trying to hide her face by turning away.

“I see,” he said with a wink. “Who’s the lucky guy? Or does a lady not kiss and tell?”

She reddened deeper. “N-nothing like that!” she protested. “It was just enjoyable and relaxing. I-I had good tea,” she added.

Sylvain laughed. “I’m sure you did, professor.”

The two stood, and Byleth clutched her vegetable basket, her face redder than the peppers inside it. “I appreciate the help in gathering these,” she said meekly.

“It was the least I could do, after I startled you into dropping them,” he replied easily, resting his arms behind his head. “Be more careful in the future, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah.” She managed a small smile. 

Sylvain winked, then stepped out of the greenhouse, whistling the same tune Byleth had been humming.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Byleth sat on her chair, dressed in baby blue loungewear emblazoned with the sigil of the Blue Lions, turned to face her bed, upon which her dress lay, staring at it blankly. Lady Rhea had informed her and Caiym about the White Heron Cup, but, more importantly, the upcoming ball in their brief meeting. Byleth could scarcely contain her excitement. A  _ ball! _ Her heart fluttered at the thought of a chance to dance, especially a chance to dance with Dimitri without raising suspicion. She simply  _ had  _ to look her best. Perhaps she would get Hilda and Thea to help her prepare. It would be a monumental task getting the two of them to cooperate, but Byleth figured she might be able to pull it off. She needed makeup, and a new dress, maybe something done with her hair, possibly jewelry… 

“Professor?” Dimitri called from her open doorway. 

Her heart skipped a beat. She turned towards him. He leaned against her doorway, more casually than she was used to. His lips were only slightly upturned as he studied her, a peaceful, unconscious smile that looked at once impossible and natural on his handsome face. She returned his smile. “Good afternoon, Dimitri. Did you need something?”

“Yes. You.” He stepped into her room, closing her door behind him. 

She stood, and he embraced her, kissing her with a fire and intensity that rivaled their kiss the night before. She clutched at his shoulders, her arms wrapped under his. She felt his hand wander to her back, slipping under her shirt, rubbing against her bare skin. She stood on her toes, as if pushing herself higher would bring her somehow closer to him. His hand slipped between the two of them, grabbing for her breast. He ran his thumb across it, and she let out a short gasp. She dropped from her toes, breaking the kiss, and put her hand on his wrist. 

“W-Wait, Dimitri, not yet,” she said, almost apologetically.

“Not yet?” he repeated, as if he’d lost all sense of meaning for the words.

“I… I want the first time to be special, not…” she giggled, “not while I am trying to decide what to wear to the ball.”

“Your laugh is beautiful,” he said, brushing his hand against her cheek. 

She blushed. “You flatter me.” 

“I only tell you the truth,” he replied. He gestured to her bed. “May I sit?” She nodded. He sat down, and she sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. He laughed softly, putting an arm around her. “You’re quite affectionate, aren’t you, professor?”

“Please, just call me by my name,” she murmured, closing her eyes contentedly.

“Of course, Byleth.” He drew out the saying of her name, as if it would slip away if he spoke it too quickly.

Nothing had ever sounded quite as wonderful to her as the way he said her name.

“You seem rather excited for the ball, Byleth,” he said, breaking the brief silence.

“Of course I am.” She put her hand on his, intertwining their fingers and giggling as she felt the motion on her shoulder. “I have been quite taken with you for some time, you know. I am… grateful to have an opportunity to be close with you. Perhaps even dance with you, if I am extraordinarily lucky.”

He laughed. “I had no intention of dancing with anyone else, if I’m being honest. Ah, actually, professor, I came here to ask you to dinner, if you’d like.”

“Dinner sounds lovely,” she said, pursing her lips, “but I do worry about what others may think if we are seen together. Or even if such a relationship is even permissible by monastery rules…”

“I had considered that,” he admitted. “But to be honest, in this moment, I couldn't care less. After all, isn’t there an old story about Ionius IX finding a lover here?”

She giggled. “I have my doubts said lover was a  _ professor, _ Dimitri.”

“Perhaps not, but what does that matter? As I recall, you’re around our age anyway. Besides, from the start, I’ve had every intention of asking you to return to the kingdom with me when I graduate. Setting aside my feelings for you, Faerghus is in need of someone with your insight, with your gentleness, with your… everything! And I believe you’d make an excellent queen,” he added with a blush.

“I would love that.” She smiled. “Although I do so enjoy teaching…”

“Well, that is all still a long way off. Either way, shall we?” he stood, offering her his arm. She hugged his arm with both of hers, and he laughed. “You’re supposed to put one arm through.”

“I know,” she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It will be very difficult to walk like this.”

“I know.”

He laughed. “You sound like your brother right now.”

“I know,” she replied with a mischievous grin. Despite the difficulty walking together, the two made their way to the dining hall.

* * *

Caiym stared down a quartet of knights, including Catherine, all armed with training swords. He was unarmed, for now. The training hall was packed full of spectators, gathering around to witness the spectacle. Catherine had challenged him to a fight publicly, and he’d asked her to bring backup. She balked at first, for some reason, but acquiesced when he’d insisted. 

Caiym stretched his arms quickly, then stood, adopting no stance. Catherine took her usual guarded position, sword pointing behind her. The knights adopted similar positions with their swords raised in front, held in two hands.

“You sure about this, kid?” Catherine called. “You’re pretty cocky to not even have a weapon in hand.”

“Don’t use one when I spar,” he replied. “Unless my opponent doesn’t have one.”

“Ha! That arrogance will get you killed, you know.”

“Not today.” He smirked.

One of the knights approached first. Caiym ducked under his careful strike, grabbed his wrist, and twisted, forcing the knight to adopt a one-handed grip on the sword. He grabbed the pommel and the knight’s hand, driving a knee into his gut, and rolling the man over his shoulder onto his back. He twirled his newfound training sword, then rushed at Catherine. As he approached, the remaining two knights moved to flank him. Catherine rushed forward to meet his charge, striking with a powerful downward chop, her movements swift and deadly. He leapt backwards, tossing the training sword into one knight’s head. He tumbled with his landing, returning to his feet just in time to catch the third knight’s sword, disarming him with little effort via a shoulder check and a quick series of blows while the man was disoriented. He kicked the sword into his left hand, catching a strike from Catherine with it. As her attacks flashed his way, he turned, adjusting his angle around her until his right hand neared the sword he’d tossed earlier. He ducked into a roll, scooping it up, and rose to his feet, twin training swords in hand. Catherine grinned, and flew forward. Caiym blocked her strike, spinning with the impact, hoping to catch her off-guard with his other blade. 

She was too fast, however, and her sword was already in his path before he could anticipate the movement. Caiym followed up with a clumsy strike from his left hand, and she parried again. Frustrated, he tossed the sword from his left hand at her. Her eyes widened, and, though she deflected it, the movement left her open enough that Caiym’s right-hand sword made contact with her stomach.

“That’s a kill,” he said with a smirk.

“You’ve got zero honor, you know that?” Catherine said, returning his smirk.

“I know.” He wiped some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

“As long as you know.” She laughed. “Seriously, though, you always fight like your life's on the line. Loosen up from time to time! It’ll do you good.”

“Don’t know how,” he said. 

After Caiym washed off, he found Monica waiting outside the training grounds. “Hiya, prof!” she said with a grin. “That was a hell of a fight.”

“Was it?” He kept walking, and she moved to follow him.

“Sure was! You’ve got a pretty flashy fighting style. Fun to watch!” She kept pace, her hands resting behind her head.

“Flashy?”

“Yeah, you do a lot of jumps and stuff. It’s entertaining, at least more entertaining than all the stiff, formal movements the knights do.” She snickered. “Probably why you won, to be honest.”

“I won because I wanted to.” He moved toward the knight’s quarters, cutting across the area in front of the classrooms.

“I’m sure she wanted to win, too. Are you saying you wanted it  _ more _ or something?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit conceited, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like that matters to me, but still.”

“Not really. I fight like I’m going to die. She didn’t.” He shrugged.

“What’s the point of throwing your all into everything, anyway? Doesn’t it get exhausting?” She trotted a few paces in front of him, turned to face him, and leaned forward, her arms folded behind her back.

He stopped. “No. It’s how I am.”

“Yeah, but why?” She studied him.

He felt a mild discomfort. “It’s how I had to be.”

“But you don’t have to be like that anymore,” she said, smiling. “Relax. Let your guard down a little.” She winked. “Of course, this isn’t really what I wanted to talk about.”

“Then what is?”

“Are you going to the ball, prof? Got anyone in mind?” She moved a bit closer.

He paused.  _ Sothis, how do I answer two questions in a row?  _

Sothis opened one eye lazily, turning on her throne slightly  _ I dunno, just answer the first one and see what happens? _

_ Okay. Not going. _

_ Out loud, you dolt.  _ She sighed and closed her eyes.

_ Right. _

“Not going.” 

“Could I convince you to go with me?” She moved uncomfortably close. “I _ really _ enjoy your company. And you can be pretty cute sometimes.”

He felt tense, but almost in a good way. He paused. “I don’t hate your company either.”

_ Oh, sweet ME this is tiring!  _ Sothis grumbled.  _ Okay, listen to me, Cassanova -  _

_ Who’s Cassanova?  _ he interrupted.

_ No idea. But listen to me. Tell her you’re fond of her too. Call her cute. Do  _ something _ other than continually mess up your multiple romantic prospects, you dumb bastard. _

_ Right. Okay. _

“I’m fond of you. You’re… cute.” He felt his face grow warmer. He put a hand to his cheek. “Am I burning?”

She giggled. “You’re blushing! I didn’t think you were capable of that.” She stood up straight, locking eyes with his. “So I’ll see you at the ball, then?”

_ Don’t speak yet, fish-for-brains. Repeat exactly what I’m about to say: It will be my pleasure. _

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he said.

_ Now smile.  _ She demonstrated with a wide, horrifying rictus.

“Now smile.”

_ No, I meant,  _ you _ should smile, you half-wit.  _ She put her head in her hands.

_ Calling her a half-wit seems mean. _

_ I was calling you a halfwit. Smile, you moron.  _ She closed her eyes yet again, curling back up on her chair.

_ Oh. Right. _

He smiled.

“You’re an odd one, prof,” she said, returning the smile. “But I like that about you.” She turned and walked away from him. “It’s a date!” she called back as she ran off.

“It’s a date,” he repeated, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Byleth and Dimitri have dinner, preparation for the ball and the White Heron Cup, also the last Peaceful Days chapter!  
> Chapter after: The ball, and you all get to deal with me posting *all* of my ships. I'm not sorry.  
> I *am* sorry to Caiym though. He doesn't deserve what's coming. He's a good boi.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the support!


	14. The Last Peaceful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final edition of the Peaceful Days chapters! In which:  
> *Hubert and Edelgard talk about the future.  
> *Linhardt watches Caspar train.  
> *Felix cuts vegetables.  
> *Hilda gets annoyed with Claude.  
> *Hubert meets with a friend.

# Chapter Fourteen: The Last Peaceful Day

“Your excitement for this upcoming ball is quite fascinating, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, keeping careful to maintain his smile lest he give even an inch of ground to those observing him, even if the only other person present was his liege. “I’d thought you above such petty things. Especially given that which will take place afterward.”

“In a way, that makes it more exciting.” She adjusted her hair, pulling it backwards, staring at her reflection. “Mm, no, I think this style doesn’t suit me. What do you think?”

“You know what I think,” he replied flatly. “You look marvellous no matter what you do with yourself.”

“As always, your counsel in this matter is useless,” she said, sighing. “I think I will try wearing my hair up, however.”

“I cannot fathom who it is you seek to impress.” He frowned. He’d scared off just about every suitor she’d had, except for one, as far as he was aware. “Did you not tell me you had given up on the demon?”

“‘The demon?’” she scoffed. “He has a name, Hubert.” She held her hair in place and began tying a ribbon around it. “In any case, I have given up on him, you’re correct. He’s far too blind to my charms to continue pursuing.”

“Then who?” His smirk returned. “At least confirm the obvious, it is not Ferdinand?”

She laughed. “ _Ferdinand?_ Do you think that little of me?” She finished tying the ribbon and admired herself, turning her head to view her hair from the side.

“As I said, it was to confirm the obvious. Will you not tell me then?”

She put a hand to her chin and tilted her head. “Does it suit me?”

“You know my answer,” he replied. “Now may I hear yours?”

“If you _insist_ on knowing, the answer is Petra,” she huffed. “She has displayed an interest in me, and I am… making use of that to attempt to pull her to our side.”

He chuckled darkly. “Ever the diplomat,” he said, suppressing his sarcasm with practiced efficiency.

“Well, it never hurts to use what charms I have,” she said with a smile. “Besides, perhaps I return her affection.”

His smile waned only a little before he caught himself. “Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

A noise caught his attention outside. He tuned out his liege, focusing on it. Heavy footsteps, in boots most likely, marched in their direction. He focused on one footfall, a dull but somewhat loud _thump_ . Too light for a knight, too heavy for most students. Caspar, Dimitri, or Dedue seemed likely. Or Catherine, he supposed, though she would come for them with a troupe of others; despite her arrogance, Hubert doubted she was so vain as to face them down alone. The demon was another possibility, but unlikely; he was with _her_ , doing goddess-only-cares-what. If Caspar or Dimitri, the footprints were more likely to be no threat; their rooms were on this floor after all. If Dedue, it was more of a problem, though still possibly nothing; likely here for Dimitri, if anything. The second footstep came. By the time the footfalls passed his liege’s doorway, he’d factored their origin as no threat, and so turned his attention back to her.

“... doesn’t mean she can’t _try_ to bury the hatchet,” she was saying. Only one woman so incensed Edelgard.

“Agreed. Hilda’s efforts at reconciliation have been dissatisfactory. Pity we cannot simply remove her.”

Edelgard snapped her head to look at him. “Hubert! Her room is beside mine! You’d do well to not say anything that… dark!”

“If she asks, it was a joke,” he said, chuckling again. “My _dark_ sense of humor is well-known.”

She frowned. “You are very difficult, Hubert.”

“I am aware,” he replied with a smile.

She sighed, and let her hair down, brushing it with her hand back to its natural position and tying her small ribbons on the sides of her head again. “Now then. I am certain my dress has arrived by now.” She marched towards her door. Hubert stood, letting her pass, then fell in step behind her. “Do make an effort not to appear quite so sinister at the tailor this time.”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard,” he lied.

* * *

Linhardt’s room was full of crest books, left lying lazily wherever he’d set them down last, lest he lose his place. Linhardt sat on his bed, watching as Caspar stood, shadow-boxing Linhardt’s dresser, which brought a disapproving frown, though of course saying anything to him would be effort, so Linhardt remained quiet, glancing up on occasion at Caspar’s form. _Why_ he liked to put in such effort baffled Linhardt, but he supposed that exuberance was what had driven him to be close with the lovable buffoon in the first place. 

“I’m just saying! I don’t see a point in _not_ going to the ball! It seems like fun!” Caspar threw a series of punches, narrowly missing the dresser.

“Aim slightly higher. You’d be hitting non vital spots in a real fight.” Linhardt yawned. “And I already told you, going to the ball would be work. Not just physically _going_ but in the preparation.”

“Yeah, but we only ever do what _you_ wanna do!” Caspar’s hand connected with the corner. He let out a whimpering scream and clutched it.

Linhardt stood with a sigh, putting his hands on Caspar’s, pouring a light amount of magic into them, but also savoring the contact, however brief it was, before quickly withdrawing his hands and returning to his seat on the bed. “You have to stop doing that to yourself.”

“It’s more like your furniture does it to me!” Caspar retorted, immediately resuming his shadowboxing. 

Linhardt smiled. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I know. You never let me forget that.” Caspar punched, aiming higher as Linhardt had said. “Besides, I’m not gonna stop training! I gotta get stronger, Linhardt! I lost to Dimitri back at Gronder, and if I lose to him, I can lose to _anyone_!”

“Babe, you’ve got to let that loss _go._ ” Linhardt said, shaking his head.

Caspar stopped. “Did you just call me ‘babe?’ Isn’t that kind of gay?”

Linhardt dropped his book and stared up at Caspar. “And we’ve been dating for how long now?”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to be _gay_ about it.”

“What the hell does that even _mean,_ Caspar?” Linhardt sighed, equal parts frustrated and smitten.

“Like, I dunno, calling me ‘babe’ and stuff. Like that hug before Gronder.” He shrugged. “It’s just girly, I think.”

Linhardt rolled his eyes. “You hugged me, idiot. And what do you want me to do, show no affection because it’s _manlier?_ ”

Caspar put a hand to his chin and paused, trying his best to think. Linhardt smiled despite himself. 

“Okay, make you a deal. I won’t complain about you making it gay if you go to the ball with me,” Caspar said, smiling.

“Done,” Linhardt replied quickly. “Though that’s pretty _gay_ of you, you know.”

“We’ve been dating for how long now?” Caspar retorted, a smug smile on his face.

“Not long enough,” Linhardt replied, looking back down to his book.

* * *

“Please remind me why I agreed to this,” Felix grumbled, standing in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest.

“Because you didn’t have a choice,” Annette said, tying an apron around herself. “The inevitable crawl of kitchen duty comes for us all eventually.”

“Not to mention,” Mercie chimed in, “Your sparring partners were all busy.”

Felix sighed. “I suppose there are worse things I could be doing.” He grabbed an apron, looked at it with disgust, and set it back down.

“Oooh, you’re gonna regret that,” Annette said, covering her mouth, feigning horror.

Mercedes frowned slightly. “You probably will, Felix. Cooking with Annie can get a bit messy…”

“Mercieeee!” Annette pouted, blushing. “Felix doesn’t need to know about that!”

“She likely gets distracted by her singing,” Felix said, poking at the apron as if it would attack him. “I know I would.”

“Bah! You are the _worst,_ Felix!” Annette shouted, throwing a whisk at him. Felix caught it without looking up.

“I meant it in a good way,” he countered, setting the whisk down. “Your singing is nice.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, no singing for you today.” She stuck out her tongue at him.

Mercedes giggled. “Okay, enough chit chat you two! We have a lot of dishes to make.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I will never understand why we make food to demand. Professor Byleth eats enough for ten people on her own. It’s a pain. We should just make one meal and stick to that.”

“I agree, actually,” Annette said sheepishly. “But that’s just how the monastery does it.”

“I do think it’s time consuming,” Mercedes began, “But I don’t think there’s that much of a problem, since it makes people happy!”

“But it makes the kitchen staff miserable,” Felix countered.

“I suppose, but there’s nothing to be done about that! Felix, you grab a knife and slice the vegetables. Annie, you get a pot ready to boil the water for the stews. No magic this time please!” Mercedes beamed.

“No magic, right,” Annette confirmed.

Felix rolled his eyes. “It would be more efficient to use a sword and cut multiple vegetables at once.”

Mercedes giggled. “Is this your first time cooking, Felix?”

He frowned. “Yes.”

“You can try that if you really want to, but trust me, it’s a lot more awkward than you might think.” Mercedes picked up a large pan. “I’ll be over here, sauteing fish, if you need me!”

“I won’t,” Felix said confidently.

Felix stared at the vegetables in front of him and the knife in his hand. An idea struck him. A way to cut the vegetables quickly and also show off for Annette, possibly to impress her the way her singing impressed him. He tossed a handful of them into the air, and sliced at them with his knife. They fell to the counter, cut into equal halves.

“Wow, Felix, that was really neat!” Annette cheered. “But um, won’t that take forever?”

“They only need to be cut, right?” Felix asked, staring at them. “They’re cut.”

“Oh, Felix.” Annette smiled. “They need to be sliced. They’re supposed to be a lot thinner than that.”

Felix frowned. He picked up half of a cucumber, slicing part of it off.

Annette giggled. “Not like that, silly!” she said. “Um, can I show you?”

“Sure,” he said, frowning more. “Though I doubt you can improve on my technique.”

“Maybe not for combat,” she agreed, “but for cooking, even I’m experienced in cutting vegetables.”

He stepped away from the cucumber. Annette laid it on its side, putting her hand on top of it, fingers bent at the second knuckle a short space away from the end. She held the knife aloft just above the cucumber, and cut downward, leaving a thin slice of cucumber. “It’s like that,” she said proudly.

“I see,” he said. He took the knife from her and attempted to mimic her stance and position.

“Oh, not quite,” she said. She grabbed his arm and moved it back further from the edge, then put her hand on his, pushing the knife down. “See? You want it kind of like that. Then pick up and move your hand back and…” her voice trailed off. She blushed and backed off. “Um, yeah, just, do that like I showed you and you’ll be okay,” she said quickly, pronouncing the sentence as though it were a single word.

Once he decoded what she said, Felix nodded. “Okay. Thank you…” he hesitated. “Thank you, Annie.”

“Youcanthankmebygoingtotheballwithme,” she blurted.

Felix stared. Annette blushed. When he finally puzzled through what she said, he blushed somewhat, himself. “Fine. It’s not like I’m doing anything else that evening.”

As he turned to resume cutting the vegetables, he heard a rumbling from the pot Annette had put on the stove.

“Oh no, not again!” she cried, as a thick, muddy-brown liquid exploded from within the pot, coating Felix’s uniform in the sludge.

“Told you,” Mercedes called from the other side of the kitchen.

* * *

Hilda, Claude, and Marianne sat on a bench in the courtyard, Hilda in the middle of course. She had her arms around the other two’s shoulders. Marianne sat, hands clasped in her lap, head downcast as always, though Hilda could see the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Claude sat leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, one folded across his lap, the other raised so he could rest his head upon it.

“I cannot _wait_ for the ball!” Hilda shouted, breaking the silence. “I’m soooo glad I get to get all dressy with my two favorite people!”

“That being?” Claude sniped, a grin forming on his face. “I’d assume Marianne and Byleth, but…”

“You two, silly!” she said, pulling the two of them closer to her. Marianne blushed.

“Ah, and here I’d have thought I barely crack the top ten.” Claude laughed. “The way you insult me sometimes, I swear.”

“I insult you because I care~!” Hilda said in a singsong tone. “If I don’t, then who will?”

“Lorenz, probably,” Claude replied. 

Hilda giggled. “I guess, but no one says your name in an annoyed tone quite like I do, _Claude._ ”

“The way you draw out the ‘a’ is a very uniquely Hilda thing,” he admitted. 

“It sure is! Oh, by the way, Mister Leader Man, since Manuela gave you free reign to pick our representative for the dance cup thingy, who are you picking? It’s me right?”

“I told you not to call me that,” Claude said, though he kept his smile. “And probably Marianne.”

Hilda turned and stared.

“M-m-m-m-me?!” Marianne stammered, paling. 

“Yeah, you.” Claude leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. “I’ve got confidence in you, even if you don’t have it yourself.”

Hilda paused, then beamed at Marianne. “I believe in you too!”

“Ah! H-Hilda!” Marianne’s pale face quickly flushed red instead.

Hilda couldn’t stop herself from turning and hugging her. “How do you keep being this cute?”

“I-I don’t know! It’s not like I’m trying to be…” Marianne smiled despite her protests, provoking Hilda to squeeze her tighter.

“You two are adorable together,” Claude said, laughing. 

“I know,” Hilda replied, resting her head on Marianne’s shoulder.

“Ah, bingo. There we go.” Claude leaned forward again, resuming his earlier sitting position. Hilda turned and watched as Dimitri and Byleth exited from the latter’s room. Byleth was hugging his arm, making their progress unusually difficult. 

Hilda’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh my _gosh,_ I am so happy for her!”

“Shhh.” Claude’s eyes twinkled in his usual mischievous way. 

They watched as the couple struggled their way to the dining hall, laughing with one another as they stumbled forward. Hilda couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about. When Dimitri and Byleth disappeared into the dining hall, Claude stood, moving to follow them, walking casually.

“Claude, what are you doing?” Hilda asked, trotting behind him, her hand locked with Marianne’s, who followed, struggling to keep up.

“Spying,” he replied breezily. 

“Any particular reason you’re spying?” Hilda slowed her pace as she approached. Behind her, she heard Marianne sigh with relief.

“Looking into some rumors,” he said, his tone even and his smile cryptic. “Nothing too serious.”

“Rumors?”

“Yeah. Plus, I saw him sneak into her room last night and leave a few hours later. I’m mostly curious, but on the off-chance it’s something important…” he shrugged.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Hilda rolled her eyes. “You _always_ do this. You _always_ make everything about your schemes, _Claude._ ”

“Ah, see, there’s the venom I love from you.” Claude laughed. “Don’t worry, Hilda, it’s probably nothing.”

The trio grabbed their meals and sat within earshot of Dimitri and Byleth, positioned so Claude could keep his eye on both of them without raising too much suspicion. 

“You know,” Hilda said, cutting into her sauteed fish, “this feels very mean, Claude.” Hilda took a small, dainty bite.

“I-I am forced to agree,” Marianne half-whispered, stirring the dressing into her salad. “It is as though you do not trust them.”

“I don’t,” he replied simply, cutting roughly into his fried pheasant. “Dimitri skulks around all the damn time and I’ve heard some stuff about Byleth that doesn’t _feel_ true, but all the same.”

“If it doesn’t _feel_ true, that means it probably _isn’t_ true,” Hilda grumbled, taking another dainty bite. 

“Fine, call me paranoid.”

“You’re paranoid,” Hilda replied without missing a beat.

As Hilda and Marianne ate their dinner contentedly, Claude took slower and more measured bites, focusing on the conversation across from him. Hilda shook her head. “You’ve got two cute girls sitting in front of you and all you care about is spying on our teacher. Really charming of you, _Claude._ ”

“Hey, the way I see it, you two get to have a nice date, and I get to act as defender of the monastery in case something goes wrong.” He grinned. “Besides, they’re really not that interesting.” 

Hilda turned to look at them. Dimitri was laughing at something or other, looking far more content than he usually did. Byleth, however, was eye-catching. Hilda had never seen her so happy. She couldn’t help but smile with her as Byleth stared longingly at Dimitri. “I beg to differ, Claude,” she said softly. “It’s nice seeing her like this.”

Claude shrugged. “I suppose. Seems the rumors weren’t true, anyway.”

“I told you, Claude. If it feels untrue, it probably is untrue.” She smiled again, then turned back to her meal and to Marianne. “Now come on! You’ve got a dinner to eat, and we’ve all got a ball to prepare for!”

* * *

Hubert stood behind the Goddess Tower in the dead of night, looking with disdain at Monica, who sat with her back to the tower wall, balancing a dagger on her finger. 

“You seem chipper tonight, Hubie.” Monica grinned.

“Quite. Is there any particular reason you called me to a meeting in such a perilously open location?” He maintained his composure, but just looking at the creature in front of him fueled an intense loathing and bloodlust within him. It would be so easy to kill her. A knife to the throat. A jet of miasma at point-blank on her face. Strangulation, perhaps; enabling him to savor the kill for just that much longer. 

Not that he could act on any of that, of course. Not yet.

“Oh, Hubie, I just wanted to check in with you,” she said, smiling her bright, cheerful smile. 

He frowned in disgust at such mockery. “I assure you, things are proceeding according to design. You need not demonstrate these false concerns.”

“False? I’m wounded! My concern for you is genuine, you know,” she cackled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I’m sure,” Hubert muttered, glaring. “And your affections for the demon, are those genuine as well?”

Surprisingly, she frowned, looking away. “I’m not sure.”

“I hadn’t expected earnestness from one such as you,” he replied. The troubled look on her face brought him some measure of schadenfreude. Although not as pleasant as killing her, it would suffice for now.

“It’s not earnestness, really. I dunno. Something about him is just fascinating to me. Watching him fight is entertaining, and his brain doesn’t seem to work like a human’s is supposed to.” She let her knife drop, catching it and sheathing it quickly.

“Isn’t he supposed to be _your kind_ ’s mortal enemy?” Hubert asked.

“What about it? I can’t find him interesting?” Monica stood, glaring.

Hubert’s dry grin returned. “Your superiors might find your interest troubling, that’s all.”

“And Edel’s interest isn’t?” She turned away, folding her arms. “Besides, I second her belief that he could be a hell of an asset.”

“An unlikely eventuality, given your plans for the morning after the ball.” Hubert smiled cruelly, knowing she couldn’t see him. “Or had you forgotten your purpose here?”

“I haven’t forgotten, and my conviction to my cause hasn’t wavered.” She turned back to face him. He studied her carefully. She was glaring, frowning, arms folded; defiant, but not combative, demonstrating an authority she believed she could exert over him nonviolently. And yet something about her seemed so very vulnerable in this moment, he noted with some amusement.

“Of course not, Kronya.” He lingered on the sound of her name, assuring her it was no mistaken switching of words. “I am merely suggesting that your deviance from your superiors’ plans might have tragic consequences for you. It would be a shame were you to be found less-than-useful, would it not?”

Her glare intensified, but she said nothing. She pushed past him, moving away from the tower. 

Hubert managed to keep his laughter contained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I shipping Caiym with Monica/Kronya? Angst. 100% unadulterated angst. They're not going to stay together, obviously, but it's fun to write.  
> Hubert is my favorite PoV character to write thus far and I didn't expect that at all. He's entertaining though, that's for sure!  
> The next chapter is the ball, which is the longest chapter of what I've got. I'm not 100% sure when I'll have the time to edit it. Possibly will be up tomorrow, possibly later in the week. In any case, after the ball, I'm out of backlog, so one chapter per day ends with that anyway. I'll do my best to maintain a consistent update schedule tho! I promise!


	15. The Grand Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anticipated Garreg Mach anniversary ball is here, along with the White Heron cup. As Byleth and Dimitri's romance culminates, Caiym finds himself forced into an uncomfortable situation.  
> CW: Dubious consent, exact section will be marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after a few day's hiatus to edit this thing! Cut it down from 35 pages to 27, fixed up some continuity errors, and other stuff like that!  
> I moved the White Heron Cup to the ball because WHY WAS IT NOT AT THE BALL TO BEGIN WITH?!
> 
> Also, last mostly-lighthearted chapter for a while. The next four before part 2 are all pretty grim.

# Chapter Fifteen: The Grand Ball

Byleth couldn’t help but let her eyes wander her father’s office, taking in the rows upon rows of bookshelves, the flower she’d given him shortly after they’d arrived, the otherwise-sparse decorations, the suits of armor she knew for a fact he kept in here for appearances. She smiled. The sparse decoration was exactly like her father, she figured.

“I really can’t remember the last time you were this excited, kiddo,” Jeralt said, smiling at Byleth from across his office’s table. He took a large swig from his mug of ale.

“Is it so surprising?” She took a sip of coffee, savoring the bitter warmth of the drink. 

“It is. You’re not often this energetic, so it’s good to see.” He chuckled. “If only your brother had an ounce of your enthusiasm for the ball. He always looks so grim. Might be nice if he could relax now and then.”

“He does relax, just not in the way you or I do. He relaxes through physical activity. He is most calm at the training ground, or out on a run, or even on the battlefield.” 

“Even so. Might do him some good to rest.” He sighed. “I’m not looking forward to the morning after the ball, to be honest.”

Byleth’s eyebrows raised. “You do not relish the idea of working with Caiym for your mission?”

“Oh, no, I’m looking forward to working with my kid again,” he replied quickly. “I’m not looking forward to being on ‘afterparty cleanup’ all morning,” he grumbled. “Patrolling that chapel for brats that didn’t have the decency to fuck in their own rooms isn’t my idea of fun.”

Byleth giggled. “Nor mine. Nor Caiym’s, I would guess.” She smiled wistfully. “Do not be too hard on them, father. Remember that this is something of an important night for many of them. They can be forgiven for being a bit… excited.”

“They can be, sure, but rules are rules.” He shrugged. “You almost sound like you’re planning on being a bit touchy with someone yourself.” He raised an eyebrow.

She blushed. “Ah, n-no, no, nothing like that!” Byleth hid her face by taking a long drink from her coffee. “I just do not want to begrudge my students for being young, is all,” she managed, setting her cup down, hoping her blush had faded. 

“Mmm-hmm.” Jeralt pursed his lips, but seemed to let it pass. “So will you be attending as a chaperone, then?”

“Ah, no, I actually asked Caiym to take my place chaperoning.” She grinned wickedly. “I had to make him experience fun one way or another.”

Jeralt tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “That might be a little cruel, kiddo,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “He’ll be like a fish out of water.”

“Perhaps,” Byleth giggled, “but all the same, I do believe he should relax from time to time.”

“You might be right.” Jeralt leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the couch. “Say, come to think of it, it’s been a long time since the last time we got together.”

“Ah, I suppose it has.” She looked away. How could she tell him that she’d overheard what he’d said, months ago? That she’d only just now gotten over it? That she was too scared to face him? Her self-doubt returned like a wave, crashing over her, knocking her off-balance. _Burdensome._

“I suppose it’s been a busy few months though, hasn’t it? Hardly seems like any of us have had time to breathe.”

Byleth, choking back tears, could only nod. 

“Hey, kiddo, are you okay?” Jeralt leaned forward, concern quickly covering his face. 

“F-fine,” she managed.

“Where’s this coming from? Hey, kiddo! Byleth!” He stood and grabbed her shoulders.

She took a deep breath. “I told you, I am fine,” she said, keeping all trace of emotion from her voice. “However, I… must be going. Thank you for visiting with me.”

“I’m not exactly happy with letting you run away like this.” He didn’t release his hold on her shoulders. “I’ve seen that look in your eye before.”

“I would not want to be burdensome,” she said flatly.

“You always say that when you get like this!” He sighed. “I’m worried about you.”

“There is no need to be.” 

“If you say so,” he said quietly, letting her go. “I wish you trusted your old man a bit more, kiddo. I know you’ve been hiding something from me for a while. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I appreciate it, but I do not need help.” She stood.

“Refusing to accept it doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” He turned away from her. “But you won’t listen to me. I just…” He sighed again. “Take care of yourself, Byleth.”

“I will,” she replied, and left her father’s office.

She made it to the classrooms before the tears finally overpowered her. She picked up her pace, sobbing, trying to run to her room, heedless of others around her. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. She felt herself stop more than she actually processed what it was she ran into. Whatever it was, it held her, as if she were trapped. She struggled, weakly, but couldn’t seem to break away.

“Byleth?”

She looked up to find herself face-to-face with Dimitri. Even with his concerned expression, he was still beautiful to her, with his golden hair, soulful blue eyes, and strong, heroic build. He was hugging her, she realized.

“Is something wrong? What happened? Do you need to talk?”

She leaned herself against him, resting her arms on his chest. She cried into his chest, fighting embarrassment and self-loathing. He said nothing, simply holding her close, his hand stroking her back. She let herself cry into him, heedless of their open affection, until at last the crying stopped. Dimitri had put a hand on the back of her head at some point, she realized.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

“A-A little,” she confessed. “I apologize for breaking down like that.”

“Don’t apologize for feeling how you feel.” She glanced around, realizing they were standing in her room. “Um, when did we…?”

“You don’t remember? You ran into me right in front of your door.” He kissed her forehead. “I pulled us in here.” He chuckled slightly. “Closing the door was a hassle.”

She managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m here for you, always.” He squeezed her, and although he tried to be gentle, she still winced under the pressure, drawing a sheepish, apologetic grin. “In any case, do you want to talk?”

“Ah, no, but thank you for being here.” She snuggled up against him. “Would you mind staying with me for just a little longer? When I am with you, I forget all of the things about myself that I hate. It is like I am learning to love myself through you. Or… something, forgive me if that sounds silly.”

“Not at all.” He rested his head on hers, and the two savored each other’s presence.

* * *

“Why the hell would I care about the ball, pal? There won’t be any booze and the girls there are all gonna be students.” Balthus lay on a half-broken, leaning chair, head on the floor resting atop his arms, legs draped over the sole remaining armrest.

“Oh, Balthus, you just lack a taste for the finer things in life!” Constance sat on a full loveseat, laying across it, fanning herself lavishly, looking at once ridiculous and like the very picture of nobility. “Dancing is its own reward, after all!” She laughed, sounding to Yuri like some sort of mad witch, a descriptor he supposed was accurate.

“To you maybe,” Balthus replied.

Hapi rolled her eyes. Her head and torso lay under the table in the center of the room, visible only to Balthus and Yuri, her legs bent just outside of her hiding spot. “You just gotta get out more, B. You’re cooped up in here more than Yuri-bird.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I leave fairly often.” Yuri had draped himself somewhat melodramatically across the broken remains of a couch, feeding himself grapes. “Whenever Ladybird asks, actually. I get out.”

“That’s my point. You get out, B doesn’t.”

“I get out!” Balthus countered, raising a hand, his index finger extended, before dropping it to the floor. “I leave for classes and stuff when I feel like it, yeah?”

“That isn’t getting out, Balthus!” Constance replied, laughing. “That is just fulfilling duties. As the last remaining scion of the great House Nuvelle, I must ensure that my compatriots take care not to lose themselves to inactivity, so to that end, I demand that you get a hobby.”

“I have hobbies!” Balthus protested. 

“Getting drunk isn’t a hobby, friend, it’s an addiction.” Yuri frowned, though insincerely; it was a bit gauche to admit he was more amused than anything.

“And what about you, pal? Going to town on your girlfriend isn’t a hobby either, yeah?” Balthus chuckled.

Hapi shared his laugh. “Yeah, Yuri-bird. At least me and Freckles have reading together as a hobby.” 

“Have the two of you even had sex yet? I’m genuinely curious. He’s not the type to rush things, but you might be.” Yuri dropped a grape into his mouth, smirking at her.

“Nah. Don’t need to, unlike you and Songbird.” She scooted out from under the table and sat up, stretching, then folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. “I mean, I’d _like_ to, but he wants to wait, and I’m fine with that.”

Constance sighed. “Is that _really_ where your mind goes, Yuri? I had taken you for less of a fool than that.”

“I told you, I’m an insignificant and beautiful creature. It’d be a waste to not share that beauty with others.” He winked. “But I’m thinking we should all go to the ball together, yeah? I planned on going, of course, and I’m sure Hapi did too, but it’d be nice for the Wolves to actually act like wolves for once and travel in a pack.”

“How long were you thinking of that joke, pal? Be honest.” Balthus grinned.

“Eh, I wasn’t. Just came to me in the moment.” Yuri sat up, struggling a bit given his melodramatic draping over the couch. “I just think it’d be nice to get us all together again, however briefly.”

“Yeah,” Hapi said with a slight smile. “Might be nice.”

* * *

Marianne sat on Hilda’s cushioned wooden chair, struggling not to fidget as Hilda applied makeup on her. Hilda hummed to herself, smiling contentedly at Marianne. Beside them, Claude adjusted his shoulder cape, keeping the stark yellow against his tan formalwear. 

“I think the cape might be a bit too gaudy,” he said, lifting his arm, causing the cape to move with him. “I love it.”

“You would,” Hilda said, grinning. Marianne squirmed. “Hold still, Marianne! It might get in your eye if you move too much!”

“But it tickles, Hilda!” she said, fighting back giggles. 

“Oh, Marianne, what _am_ I going to do with you?” Hilda said, feigning disappointment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy.

“I can’t help but notice that neither of you seem to have a dress on,” Claude laughed. “Or are uniforms considered ‘dressy’ now?”

“For your information, _Claude_ , we’ve got dresses picked out, we just don’t want to wear them before the ball, unlike you and… whatever that outfit is supposed to be.” She shook her head. “Right, Marianne?”

“Um, r-right.”

“It’s the Garreg Mach summer uniform, actually,” he said idly, holding a headband to his forehead, before setting it back down. “Well, the summer uniform plus my own coat.”

“Oh my _gosh_ , are you _serious?_ You can’t just wear a uniform to the ball, _Claude_.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You have to actually dress up!”

“Relax, Hilda.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t plan on staying too long anyway. The ball will be a perfect opportunity to do some skulking around, and I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking that.”

“Really, Claude? Really?” Hilda smiled despite herself. 

“Think of it as more time with Marianne,” he replied, smiling his easygoing smile. 

“I guess that’s not so bad, then,” Hilda replied, staring lovingly at her Marianne.

* * *

“I told you to wear a suit,” Linhardt grumbled, glaring at Caspar in his full-body platemail.

“It _is_ a suit! A suit of _armor!_ ” Caspar beamed proudly as the visor on his helmet fell and covered his face.

“Please tell me you have formalwear underneath that. I did _not_ spend this much time, money, and effort getting dressed just for you to do this to me.” Linhardt raised an eyebrow. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Caspar replied, struggling to keep the visor above his eyes, eventually settling on holding it in place with his hand.

“You look ridiculous, babe,” Linhardt said, frowning.

“Yeah, well, you look good enough for both of us,” Caspar replied. “I like the green. It’s really your color.”

“You think? I wanted to match my hair, but I think it came out kind of ridiculous.” He yawned. “Or at least monochromatic.”

“It’s cute, and it looks good on you.” He leaned in for a kiss.

“Caspar, I am not kissing you until you take that stupid helmet off,” Linhardt said, smiling despite his words.

“It’s uh. It’s stuck,” Caspar replied, sheepishly. “I kinda just grabbed what would fit me, I didn’t really think this through.”

“You idiot,” Linhardt said, kissing Caspar. “You absolute dumbass.”

* * *

“I look ridiculous,” Caiym muttered, frowning at himself in the mirror. His coat, shirt, and patches of armor were replaced with a black waistcoat, black slacks, and a ruffled white shirt. He’d kept his metal-braced kneepad, a necessity to cover an old injury, but the rest of his armor sat to the side. He’d replaced his gauntlets with white gloves. Caiym had never felt so defenseless.

_You look fine,_ Sothis yawned. 

“Why did I agree to this?” he grumbled.

_You were asked by someone who’s interested in you and Byleth made you go, it’s not that hard,_ Sothis replied. _You’ll be okay._

“If someone attacks me, I die,” he countered. “I feel unsafe.”

_Then wear an officer’s sword or something._ Sothis rolled her eyes. 

“I would rather have my weapon. And a knife. And armor.” Caiym frowned.

Sothis screamed wordlessly.

A tiny knock on his door interrupted Caiym’s preparation. He approached, cautiously, picking up a dagger. He undid three of his four locks, leaving the chain across the door but unlocking the two bar locks and the padlock on his doorhandle. He slid the door open somewhat, glancing out to see Bernadetta, fidgeting in front of his room. Instead of her usual uniform, she wore a dark purple dress, which seemed to make her uncomfortable. It was plain, but still somehow elegant, and just short enough that he could see her shorts peeking out from under the hem. He closed the door, undid the chain, and reopened it. “Bernadetta,” he said.

“Um, h-hi, professor,” she greeted. “Can I, um, come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside. _How did she find your room, anyway?_ Sothis mused.

Bernadetta stepped in, standing near his bed. He turned to face her. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Oh, um, yes, I just. Um. Are you going to the ball tonight?”

Caiym blinked. _No, I just felt like wearing this horrible garment because I temporarily lost my mind in a worse way than I ever thought I could._ “Yes.”

“Oh! U-Um, do you want to… I mean, I’d like to… Um, canIgowithyou?”

He paused. _Oh great, that’s what we needed,_ Sothis grumbled. “Do you want to go?” Caiym asked aloud, ignoring Sothis.

“I-I don’t, unless it’s with you…” She blushed and looked away. “Is that weird? I’m sorry, that’s weird. I’ll leave, I’m sorry!” She turned, moving to run, but Caiym put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Bernadetta. It’s okay. I’ll go with you.” He offered a smile he hoped was as kind as Byleth’s. 

She stared. “R-Really?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “We can go together.” _Stop and think, dumbass. You were already asked to go by that… red… woman. Mo… Moni…_

_Monica?_ he offered.

_Yes, her! Now you’re going with two different women._

_Is that an issue?_ He put his hand to his chin.

_Yes! You can’t go to the ball with two different women!_ She frowned at him,

_Why not? That seems arbitrary._

_I am astounded you know that word,_ she muttered.

“Um, professor?” Bernadetta’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “That is a pretty dress.”

Bernadetta flushed bright red. “Um. You too!” she managed. “Oh no! Why did I say that? Now you’re probably mad that I called you pretty, and you don’t ever wanna talk to me again and-”

“Bernadetta. Calm. Deep breath.” 

She took several deep breaths in rapid succession.

“No, that’s hyperventilating.” _Where are you learning these words?_ Sothis asked. _Byleth,_ he replied.

Bernadetta slowed her breathing, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly.

“Better,” he said, smiling. 

She leapt forward and hugged him. “Thank you, professor. You’re always so nice to me and I don’t deserve it!”

“You deserve it. You deserve the world.”

* * *

Byleth shifted uncomfortably in her chair as Thea brushed makeup around her eyes. “You’re a wise woman to ask me to help with this, professor,” she said in a somewhat singsong tone. “Though I question your judgment in making me work with _her_.” She frowned.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m much happier, you know. But it’s fine, for the professor’s sake.” 

“Please do not fight, you two,” Byleth sighed. “Just for now.”

“Right, right. Okay. So.” Hilda looked Byleth up and down. “I think blue for the dress is good. Maybe black.”

“Um, I was just going to wear my usual-”

“The hell you were, professor!” Dorothea cut her off. “You asked us to make you look special, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

“Do you think blue is good?” Hilda asked. “It’ll have to be something backless, of course. Gotta be at least a little daring.” She winked.

“Do you think she should wear tights with it?” Dorothea asked, quickly glancing down at Byleth’s legs, then back up at her face in the mirror. 

“T-tights? I-I had no plans of wearing anything that would make such clothing visible, and-”

“That’s a yes then,” Hilda said with a grin. “Don’t worry, professor! When we’re done with you, you’ll be the prettiest woman in all of Fódlan!”

* * *

Annette sighed, trying to gather herself and her thoughts. She stood in the darkened hallway in front of Felix’s room, barely illuminated by the setting sun. She felt somewhat ridiculous standing in a dormitory hallway, dressed as she was. She wore a long, flowing turquoise dress, her hair no longer in her characteristic rings, but rather, let loose, falling around her shoulders, a short burnt-orange fur-lined cape draped over her otherwise-exposed shoulders, keeping them from feeling too cold in the chill around the monastery. She and Mercie had opted to keep her makeup subtle, assuming Felix wouldn’t be terribly concerned with appearances.

She sighed again, then knocked on Felix’s door.

“What?” he called from within.

“Um, Felix, it’s me,” she answered sheepishly.

“Oh, Annette! I’ll be right out.” His tone shifted instantly, the hostility and defensiveness replaced by a casual ease he demonstrated around few other people, perhaps even only Byleth. His door creaked open. Felix moved forward, then stopped, his eyes widening. Annette blushed, smiling shyly. “You don’t look half-bad,” he managed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” she said, regaining some composure, though still blushing beet-red. “Well, shall we head to the ball?” 

He smiled, a genuine smile and not his usual sardonic smirk, she noticed. “Sure. I _did_ say I would.” He started walking towards the stairs.

“You could have worn something other than your uniform, you know,” she teased.

“Why bother? My only other sets of clothing are for battle, and you would’ve liked that less, I’m sure.”

Annette made to reply, then the world seemed to slow down as the toe of her shoe caught on the stairs, seemingly on nothing. She fell forward, momentum carrying her into the stairs themselves. She let out a yell of frustration and braced for an impact that never came. Instead, she found herself in Felix’s arms. He’d caught her just as she fell, holding her from behind, keeping her from actually hitting anything. He gently pulled her back to her feet.

“Be more careful next time,” he scolded her, though gently. He walked ahead of her, offering her his arm to steady herself on, repeating the same steps for each staircase they either ascended or descended on the way to the ballroom.

* * *

Byleth fidgeted in her dress. She’d worn such ostentatious formal clothing before, though never willingly, and never quite this daring. The hem of her dress was ever-so-slightly above her knees, her arms completely exposed, and the bright blue fabric stood out compared to her usual black. Only her floral-patterned tights and sandals felt even a little familiar. Thea and Hilda had brushed her hair, tying it back into a ponytail, and had taken turns applying makeup, including bright red lipstick, dark eyeliner, gray eyeshadow, and blush that Byleth was fairly certain was completely unnecessary given how red her face already was. Her glasses felt especially awkward, given the rest of her, but she’d be damned before she went into this unable to see.

The reception hall had been converted into quite the ballroom, she noted. The tables that usually sat within had been relocated, moved aside. A handful of smaller, circular tables replaced them, though most of those were covered with refreshments of one variety or another: small cakes and other sweets, small meat skewers, fruit salads, vegetables with some kind of dressing, and small cups of fruit juices and water, mainly, though some other drinks and desserts intermixed here and there. There were few places to sit; one lone chair sat by each door, where monastery faculty would sit and chaperone the dance, as well as guard the students within. Though most were empty as of now, the gatekeeper, ever reliable, sat in his designated spot. He beamed and waved at Byleth, who returned his smile and gesture.

She heard the door nearest the knights’ quarters open, and turned on instinct to face it. It took her a moment to recognize her brother in his formalwear, though the Sword of the Creator slung awkwardly on his back and the iron knee brace made him quite apparent. _He’s done nothing about that mess of hair,_ she noted with a frown. Beside him walked Bernadetta, clad in a short purple dress, wearing her shorts underneath, her messy hair left untouched as well. Byleth waved at them, and they approached her.

“Sister,” Caiym greeted.

“Brother,” she replied. “I am somewhat surprised to see you here. Both of you, actually.”

“Bernadetta wanted to go. She and Monica wanted me to go.” Caiym shrugged. “We’re here early because I thought the crowd might be easier on Bernadetta if she could slowly adjust to increasing numbers.”

Byleth blinked, surprised at the unprompted words from her normally-terse brother, but chose not to comment on them. Instead, she said, “That is a sound course of action.”

He nodded. “It is the same with adjusting to poisons.”

Byleth couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“You’re not wrong,” Bernadetta mumbled. “Crowds are poisonous.”

“Well, have fun,” Byleth said, smiling warmly at Bernadetta, then Caiym. “I hope it is not quite so dreadful as you imagine.” 

The next pair to arrive were Linhardt and Caspar. Both were dressed relatively well, Linhardt in a dark green formal suit, and Caspar in noble’s finery, though he wore a steel helmet that clashed rather dramatically with the rest of his outfit. 

Following them were Annette and Felix, walking slowly together, Felix’s arm around her and hand in hers, a gesture that seemed cute and loving, but given Annette’s sheepish grin was likely more protective and preventative of her clumsy falls. 

Following the two couples, Catherine and Shamir entered together, though they split up quickly and moved to the chaperone seats at the east and west ends of the hall.

“Ah, Byleth!” A gruff, yet still warm and friendly, voice called to her from behind her. She turned, facing Alois, still clad as ever in his armor. “I see you’ve come _dressed_ for the occasion, eh?”

She giggled. “Not your best, Alois,” she replied. “So you are the one who took my brother's job as chaperone then?”

He shook his head. “Nah, that was the gatekeeper. He volunteered instantly when your brother mentioned wanting to attend. And besides, I had to be here to judge the White Heron Cup, after all!"

“Ah, of course! Annette is quite excited to participate.”

“I’m sure she is!” Alois said with a wide grin. 

“Have fun chaperoning!” Byleth said with a wave. “I am actually waiting for someone.”

“Ah, of course. I imagine given your getup, you’re willing to wait until you’re _blue in the face_ , eh?” He chuckled.

“Still not quite your best,” she replied. 

By this point, the reception hall had filled quite a bit more with excited students, whispering amongst themselves. Lorenz and Ferdinand stood with a group of other noble students, laughing at some arrogant joke or another. Raphael sat beside a refreshment table, grabbing meat skewers one after another, even as Shamir begged him to stop. Lysithea munched happily on cake not too far away from him. Ignatz sat alone in a corner, framing the reception hall with his fingers. Monica balanced herself on the edge of a table near Caiym, somehow not causing the whole thing to topple over. Byleth felt even more out of place as the only one who’d bothered dressing up.

Thankfully, Hilda, Marianne, and Claude entered and assuaged her worry about looking too formal. Hilda’s gaudy pink dress drew most eyes to her. Marianne, by contrast, wore a sensible, beautiful light-blue gown, far more conservative than Byleth’s, she noted. Though Marianne’s head was downcast, she smiled, her fingers intertwined with Hilda’s. Claude rested his arms behind his head, wearing some kind of tan formal coat and dress slacks, along with his yellow half-cape, marking him as the head of the Golden Deer. 

The next pair to enter were Sylvain and Ingrid, both still in uniform rather than dressed. Judging by Ingrid’s frown and slight glare, Sylvain had said something particularly frustrating before the two entered.

Much to Byleth’s shock, Ashe and Dorothea arrived together, though not hand-in-hand or with arms around one another. Ashe looked only a little silly in an ill-fitting knight’s formal attire, and Thea’s bright red opera dress made even Byleth’s heart skip a beat. Thea winked at her, making Byleth’s heart flutter.

It didn’t take long, however, for Ashe and Thea’s paramours to enter. The Ashen Wolves commanded all eyes in the room with their dramatic entrance. Though all were still in uniform, Balthus’s shout of “What the hell is up, pals” and Constance’s high-pitched, frenzied laugh drew enough attention. Hapi frowned, shaking her head, taking Ashe’s arm and pulling him towards her. Yuri smirked playfully, though clearly uncomfortable with the amount of attention Balthus and Constance had drawn.

Behind them came Edelgard and Petra. Edelgard’s crimson dress was less beautiful, more loud, regal; she looked for all the world like a fairy tale queen without a crown. Petra wore a traditional Fódlan dancer’s attire, though hers was white and a pale pink, unlike Byleth’s black dancer dress. Edelgard looked surprisingly alone without Hubert in tow.

As a matter of fact, multiple students were missing. Besides Hubert, there was no trace of Dedue, Mercedes, or Leonie. Or Dimitri… 

Byleth waited near the center of the reception hall, eyes shifting between entrances, scanning for any sign of Dimitri. Just as she was starting to get worried, she saw him. He’d stayed in his uniform, she noted with some disappointment, but at least he was here. He smiled and quickly made his way to her.

“You look… incredible!” he said, looking her up and down. “I hadn’t expected you to wear something new, nor quite so bold!”

“Ah, um, it was, I, um, well, Thea and Hilda,” she managed, blushing under the scrutiny.

“That makes sense. Those two would be the type to suggest something like this. Still, you look great.”

“Um, what took you?” she asked, struggling to maintain composure and stop blushing.

“Ah, that. I’d asked Dedue if he wanted to come along, but he was rather insistent on staying away. I even told him it’d be for my safety, but he refused.” Dimitri shook his head. “He was quite intent on staying in the greenhouse.”

“I-I see.” She fidgeted, acutely aware of how short her dress was.

“Anyway, shall we dance, Byleth?” He extended his arm, offering it to her. She took it, and the two walked onto the dance floor. “Ah, have you danced before?”

“I have, yes.” She put her right hand in his as they clasped their left arms together.

“Ah, good, that saves me the step of explaining.” He smiled and swept her with him towards the center of the floor, swaying in time with her. At first, her heartbeat distracted her, pulled her away from him, but after a while, she felt herself get lost in the movements, lost in his eyes, his smile. She pressed herself against him, perhaps closer than she should, but it didn’t matter to her, not right now.

* * *

After about an hour at the ball, Alois’s booming voice called everyone to attention. Caiym only half-paid attention as he announced the White Heron Cup and its competitors, introducing the judges as Shamir, Manuela, and himself. He would watch for the students, of course, but he found himself unable to focus on anything but the rising din of idle chatter struggling to be heard over the loud music. It was paralyzing. It sounded like the battlefield, causing him to tense reflexively, yet was supposed to be calming? It was maddening. He hated it and wanted more than anything to leave. But the two students at his side didn’t want that, and so he stayed.

Monica had her arm draped around his shoulders, something Caiym only barely noticed, focused as he was on not losing his mind. Bernadetta, meanwhile, clung to his sleeve, evidently just as uncomfortable as he was. 

As Caiym fought his own discomfort, he watched Marianne, Petra, and Annette make their way to the center of the dance floor, registering only a brief shock that Marianne had opted to participate. Alois described the rules of the competition, lost to Caiym over the chatter around him, and the three contestants began to dance.

Annette’s dance was a mix of combat footworks and childish playground movements. Her arms mostly stayed extended, almost like bird wings, though not stretched straight out, simply at a narrow angle. Petra, meanwhile, thrashed about wildly. He remembered her saying something about how each dance in Brigid was unique to the dancer when he’d offered her the role of participant, and he could certainly believe it. There was a grace to her movements, to be sure, but for the most part, it was simply frenetic energy kept lightly in time with the music.

Marianne, however, took him aback. She twirled gracefully, moving with such fluidity that he couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes were closed, as if to fight back against her hesitation to be seen by so many, and yet he noted a serene smile on her lips. With each step, each little curtsy and bow, she looked every bit the ideal princess.

It was no surprise, then, that Marianne swept the votes, receiving praise from each judge. Caiym found himself smiling as he watched her leap into Hilda’s waiting arms, kissing her with such passion that even one as empty as he couldn’t help but feel the love between the two of them. 

Monica sighed. “We should’ve backed Dorothea,” she remarked.

“I’m happy for Marianne,” Caiym replied. 

“Yeah, not like I especially cared who won,” Monica said. She put her arms behind her head. 

“Um, Professor?” Bernadetta tugged at Caiym’s sleeve. “I-I think I’d like to go back to my room now.”

“Really? You didn’t even dance with Prof yet, though,” Monica teased.

“I-I know, but I just can’t take the crowd. I’m sorry,” she buried her face in Caiym’s coat sleeve.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Caiym said, his voice gentle. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Mind if I go with, Bernie?” Monica asked, standing and stretching. “The noise is giving me a headache.”

“I-I guess that’s fine,” Bernadetta replied. The three of them walked together out of the reception hall.

* * * 

Byleth leaned against the monastery wall, struggling to catch her breath in the cold winter night air. After her dance with Dimitri, many other students had asked for her time, either a dance or simply to discuss classwork. It was exhausting, and she had found herself unable to say no. Still, she didn’t hate it, exactly, she thought with a wistful smile.

“I thought I might find you out here,” Dimitri said, moving to stand beside her. “It must be so exhausting, being the favorite professor at the ball.”

“You have no idea,” she replied with a grin. “I do apologize for only sparing you one dance.”

He laughed. “Think nothing of it.” His smile softened, and a wistful look came over his face. “You know, it was Edelgard who taught me to dance as a child.”

She tensed unwillingly. “Is that so?”

“I believe I’ve mentioned we were siblings by marriage, haven’t I? We were born and raised in different territories, without ever knowing the other even existed. Yet, against all odds, for just over a year, we met and became childhood friends.” 

“Is _she_ the one you gave the dagger to?” Byleth said with a laugh.

“You knew about that?” Dimitri looked crestfallen. “I swear it came from the heart.”

“Oh, I am certain! Blades were often used in Faerghus to symbolize cutting a path forward. They can be quite hopeful, if one knows the context.”

“Ever the scholar.” He sighed. “But, I fear it is far too late to reconnect. Things are different now. She’s different. I’m different.” He paused. “Would you like to join me at the Goddess Tower, professor? I’m not one for festivities like this, and you certainly seem in no hurry to return.”

She giggled. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

_Content Warning: Dubious consent_

Bernadetta disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her with a meek “Thank you goodnight.” 

Monica laughed. “She’s pretty cute, huh?”

“I guess.”

“Hey, prof, d’you think you could walk me back to my dorm room, too?” Monica asked casually. “I’m honestly pretty sick of the ball already.”

He nodded. “As am I.”

“Ooh, good. Maybe you can keep me company.” She grinned wickedly. “Anyway, follow me. It’s around where the knights’ quarters are.”

“Odd.”

“Yeah, I think it’s supposed to be a servant’s chamber or something.” She frowned. “It’s not as fancy as a regular student dorm, anyway.”

They walked largely in silence to Monica’s room, which, as she had said, was situated near the servant’s quarters, just south of the knights’ quarters. She opened her door, revealing a single room, containing a small bed and a makeshift table with a “seat” of cushioned straw. 

“See? It’s pretty plain.”

He shrugged. “I don’t hate it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Monica teased.

“You asked me to keep you company. Where am I to sit?” he asked, glancing around the tiny room.

“Eh, just take a seat on the bed,” she said shrugging. “Not like it matters too much.”

He sat down. The mattress was stiff, uncomfortable even to sit on. He frowned. If even _he_ noticed its lack of quality, he wondered how she felt, let alone the poor servants.

“You know,” Monica said, moving closer to him, closing her door, “Edel took quite a fancy to you at first.”

“I’m aware.”

“I didn’t really get it for a while. You’re good-looking, I guess, but you’re really weird.” She smiled. “I guess I figured it out, though.” She leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear. “I like weird.” Before he could react, she kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Uncertain of what to do, he simply sat there. She moved herself on top of him, straddling him, and rubbed her body against his. He heard the sound of fabric tearing as she ripped her leggings, and felt as she lowered his trousers. In a quick motion, she pushed him onto the mattress, pinning his arms above his head. He could feel her slide onto him, then move herself, slowly at first, though picking up speed. Just as he felt something stirring in his lower half, she moved off of him. She dropped off the bed, putting her mouth around his penis, running her tongue on it. He felt something release from it, followed by an immediate exhaustion.

“Was that your first time?” Monica asked, licking her lips. 

“It… was.” He frowned.

She laughed. “Something wrong, Prof?”

“I’m not sure.” He stood, re-dressing himself. “I should go.”

“Yeah. Have a good night. See you in the morning.” Something about her playful tone struck him as sinister, but he waved it off.

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

As they entered the tower, Byleth intertwined her fingers with his. 

“It has been difficult, not being as open as I would like with our affection,” she complained, squeezing his hand.

“It’s likely for the best. If we were to be caught…” He shook his head. “Best not to think about that.”

“I suppose. And besides, if your offer to meet again in five years is sincere, we can be as open as we like then."

Dimitri laughed. "I suppose so."

The two walked in silence to the top floor. Byleth sighed, turning to face him. “Dimitri… I had planned to ask you here, but…” She swallowed. “But now that we are here, I am finding the words will not come.”

He looked away. “Is that the case?”

She nodded. “I was going to ask something rather silly, such as ‘have you heard the legend associated with the tower’ but now I am finding such a thing to be far too foolish to ask.”

“Then perhaps instead, we could make a wish together?” He blushed slightly. 

“Ah, I suppose that would be…” She sighed. “Dimitri, I had every intention of bringing you back to my room when the night ended.”

“I… what?” He stared at her.

She could feel the blush spreading across her face. “B-But now, I do not know that… That I want to wait…”

He nodded. “To be honest, nor do I, but is this really the best time to bring this up?”

She laughed quietly. “What better place for our first time together than here?” She threw her arms around him, kissing his lips desperately, passionately, as if she would never have the chance to kiss him again. 

His hands wandered her body, hungrily grabbing at her dress, her butt, her shoulder, clinging to her as though he were a shipwrecked sailor and she were his one salvation. He slipped a hand between them, grabbing her breast, running his thumb over it, far rougher than she’d expected, drawing a gasp even through the kiss. He backed her up against a wall, and she ran her hands along his body, down his back, around his waist, then up his sides, tugging at his shirt. He broke away long enough for her to pull his shirt over his head, then resumed kissing her as she clutched at his chest.

Her hand slid between them, grabbing at his crotch. He broke away from her lips again, pulling the front of her dress down, exposing her breasts. He grabbed one, his thumb rubbing against her nipple, and put his lips around the other, biting and tounguing at her like a starving beast. She muffled her moans and gasps with her wrist to her mouth, clutching at the back of his head with her other hand. He stood, moved her arm away, and kissed her again, his hand moving between her legs, rubbing her slit beneath her tights and panties. She felt her knees quiver, but stayed standing, steadying herself on him.

He guided her, gently, to the ground, spreading her legs apart. He pulled her tights down, sliding them off with her sandals, and pushed her panties to the side.

“Ah, D-Dimitri…” she began, then gasped as he buried his face between her thighs, licking at her, her hips bucking with the intensity. Again, she muffled herself, placing both hands over her mouth, gasping and screaming with each of his motions. Despite his clumsiness, it didn’t take long before she climaxed, letting out a muffled cry of pleasure. He moved on top of her, dropping his pants, pressing himself against her, his hands on either side of her head.

She leaned up and kissed him, and he thrust himself into her. She put her arms around him, clutching at his back as he moved. Tears formed in her eyes, and she pulled him closer, his pace increasing. As he moved faster and faster, she wrapped her legs around him, wanting to feel him with every inch of her. At last, with a final thrust, she tightened her legs, and he released into her. 

For a moment, the two lay there, panting, clutching each other.

“Oh goddess, what did I just do?” Dimitri quickly pulled out of her. “What if you are… with child now? Faerghus can’t take this sort of scandal, I-”

“Dimitri, wait!” She grabbed his shoulder. “I-It is okay. I um, I am incapable of… I cannot have children,” she managed.

“How do you know that?” Panic shook his voice. 

She turned away. “I would prefer not to disclose that, but please trust me when I say I know.”

He took a deep breath. “I suppose I will have to trust you then.” He rolled off of her, and leaned against the tower wall. “That aside, Byleth… that was wonderful.” 

“Yes, it was.” She sighed contentedly.

“We’d best return to the ball, though. Or at least to our rooms,” Dimitri said, re-dressing himself. 

“Carry me,” Byleth said quietly, still laying down.

“Is that not a bit suspicious?”

“It does not matter if it is or not,” she said. “I cannot walk.”

They shared a laugh, and he picked her up, carrying her bridal-style. As Byleth fell asleep in Dimitri’s arms on the way back to her room, she felt the happiest and safest she’d ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to conclude this one by saying that, at 236 pages as of this chapter's publication, this is the longest work I've ever written. I've dedicated close to 3 months of the worst year of my life to this behemoth, and it means quite a lot to me at this point. It's as meaningful to me as a "real" novel would be. I've put way too much of my heart and soul into writing a silly, self-indulgent retelling of a Nintendo game through the lens of depression and coping with trauma, and I just don't have the words to explain how much even the little support I do get for this massive project actually helps, how much it means to me that someone, anyone is enjoying something I've put this much of myself into, something that's become as much a part of me as my name. I'm sorry if this little aside got cheesy, just know that, if you're reading this, I appreciate you for sticking with me this far.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!


	16. The First Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caiym and Jeralt have early morning guard duty. Byleth and Dimitri lay in the afterglow of the ball until she is given some bad news.

#  Chapter Sixteen: The First Heartbreak

Caiym stifled a yawn, though he savored the early-morning air on his face and the sense of quiet solitude that came with being awake at such an hour, something his early-morning training had sought to replicate, but never had. There was a different weight to waking up early, departing for a job with his father, and returning late to a meal prepared by his worried sister, a weight and a togetherness that Caiym missed dearly. Although he didn’t  _ hate _ monastery life, the infrequent missions and frequent forced socialization had bothered him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

Still, he was grateful for this rare taste of nostalgia as a distraction from processing what had happened to him the night before.

_ I wish you had woken me,  _ Sothis chided, albeit more gently than she usually did.  _ I would not have let that stand. _

_ I’m unsure if I hated it.  _ He slipped the Sword of the Creator into its makeshift sheath on his hip, followed by a dagger in each boot, one on his waist, another on his lower back.  _ I don’t hate  _ her _ , in any case. _

__ Sothis frowned, her expression full of concern, looking strikingly like Byleth had when she was younger.  _ Still, it was wrong of her to put you in that situation. _

__ _ Perhaps. _ Caiym threw his old, familiar coat over himself, then stepped out into the still-darkened winter morning.

As he approached the entryway where he’d ordered his students to meet him, the slight crunch of the frosted grass beneath his boot reminded him of a job they’d taken in Faerghus, hunting down a soldier who had been complicit in the massacre at Duscur, although Caiym hadn’t known that at the time. He remembered listening for the slightest footstep in the frozen grass, the slightest indentation of the snow, to track his prey, remembered standing alongside his father against the man, the two overwhelming him until the man retreated and took his own life rather than risk capture. Grim as the memory was, it brought a smile to Caiym’s face. He still remembered the ice cream his father had treated him to afterwards, and the sauteed fish with lemon his sister had cooked for their return, how happy she’d been to finally find a dish he would eat.

As he rounded the corner past the entryway of the monastery, nodding at the yawning gatekeeper, he saw his father. Jeralt had brought his horse, an old, gray destrier named “Caelum” by Byleth, a word she’d told them meant “sky” in an ancient tongue. He adjusted the saddle, patting the old horse’s head. 

“Father,” Caiym greeted, nodding.

Jeralt smiled. “Seems your brats decided to sleep in, huh?”

“They’ll be here.” Caiym returned the smile. “I know them.”

Jeralt blinked. “Can’t remember the last time I’ve ever seen you smile. I guess maybe coming here wasn’t so bad for you after all.” He sighed. “Or maybe there was never a reason for us to leave in the first place.”

“Hm? Wasn’t I born outside the monastery?”

“Ah, it seems I’ve put my foot in my mouth there,” Jeralt said, frowning. “Although I guess it is about that time. Tell you what, after today’s little excursion, why don’t you come on up to my office? I’ll tell you everything.” He paused. “Or, if I get called away on some business or something, check behind the bookshelf nearest to my desk. You’ll find everything you need there.” He grinned. “Easier to plan around Rhea’s tendency to overwork me, right?”

Caiym laughed quietly. “Right.”

After a moment, the rest of the Eagles made their sluggish way to the gate. Of them, only Hubert seemed at attention, his usual cryptic smile across his face. Edelgard’s eyes were half-closed, her hair disheveled. Bernadetta was her typical skittish self, standing a few paces away from the rest. Caspar looked positively miserable, the steel helmet he’d worn to the ball once again on his head. Linhardt… looked no different than usual, admittedly. Dorothea yawned, but still seemed mostly alert. Petra stood at attention, though her hands were busy re-braiding her hair. Constance had her head down, eyes in shadow. Caiym had hoped the minimal sunlight would keep her from behaving this way, but alas, even the sunrise peeking over the horizon seemed enough to reduce her to this state. Ferdinand led his own horse a short distance behind the rest, one Caiym hadn’t seen before and likely one Ferdinand had chosen on a whim. Monica stood near the back of the gathered students, her hands behind her head. She winked at Caiym seeing his eyes pass over her. He tensed reflexively.

Jeralt guffawed upon seeing them. “At least they’re here.”

“They’re still students, noble ones at that.” He paused. “And Dorothea. They don’t live a life where this sort of early morning excursion is typical or necessary.”

“True. It’s a miracle you’ve taught them this much.” Jeralt patted Caiym’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Caiym smiled. 

The troupe set off, marching outside of the monastery grounds proper and towards an old chapel. Evidently, there had been some sightings of students slipping in and out of the ruins, and Seteth at least suspected that students may be using it as a location for what he’d called “unsavory activities.” The job was boring, but easy enough. It would be good practice for the students who hadn’t experienced guard duty.

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

Byleth squinted her still-closed eyes against the rays of morning sun peeking in from her small window, opening them slowly. She lay in bed, naked, head on Dimitri’s bare chest, arm draped over him, sheets tangled around their legs in her just-too-small bed. She adjusted herself to see her sleeping lover’s face, smiling softly, visible from this close even without her glasses. After a moment, he shifted, eyes fluttering open.

“Apologies if I woke you,” she whispered.

He leaned up, kissing her softly on the lips. “‘Sfine,” he said, groggily. “I don’t mind.”

As he wiped sleep from his eyes, she shook her head. “I cannot believe you slept in here,” she said, smiling. “Are we just abandoning subtlety then?”

Dimitri laughed. “We made love in the Goddess Tower, Byleth.”

She ran her hand along his chest. “We could make love here, too.”

He pulled her into his lap, somewhat rougher than she expected, eliciting a gasp. “Then let’s,” he said, kissing her, then biting gently on her lower lip. 

She slid herself onto him, letting out a quiet moan of pleasure. As she moved and swayed, he thrust his hips to match, one hand on her breast, the other steadying himself on the mattress. Their pace was frantic, desperate; they gripped at each other as though clinging to life. She clutched at his head, his back, his shoulders, whatever she could reach. She fought to stifle her moans, for Dedue’s sake if nothing else. Suddenly, he moved his hands to her thighs and stood, turning quickly, pressing her against the wall beside her door, his thrusts picking up in pace as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She buried her face in his shoulder, stifling her moans. He held her there, pumping into her forcefully for a few thrusts, then turned again, laying her on her bed. He slid himself out of her.

“Done already?” she breathed, trying her best to make it sound teasing.

“Not quite.” He grabbed her and rolled her over, pulling her legs from the bed. She stood, bent forward, and he threw himself into her again. This time she muffled her voice with a hastily-grabbed pillow, her knees close to giving out beneath her. He reached a hand around her thigh, his middle finger rubbing against her clit. She gasped, nearly inhaling the pillowcase. Dimitri’s other hand clasped her wrist, and she his. She felt her knees wobble as she approached climax and, seconds after she finished, he thrust once more into her, filling her with his warmth. Byleth slipped off of him, collapsing her knees to the floor, panting and gasping into her pillow. Dimitri sat beside her, running his fingers through her hair.

Byleth struggled to pull herself onto her bed beside him, then leaned against his shoulder, hugging his arm. “Good morning,” she said with a light giggle.

“Good morning,” he replied. He kissed her forehead, his hand gently rubbing her back.

She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of him against her. 

A rough knock on her door snapped her out of her haze of pleasure. “Um, who is it?” she called, paling as she and Dimitri stared at one another. 

“Professor, may we talk?” Seteth’s voice, rather than his usual harsh and strict tone, carried a softness to it that took her aback.

“Um, yes, just one moment.” She stood and dressed hastily, fastening her dancer’s attire with some difficulty. She didn’t bother with socks or shoes, though she did dig out her glasses and put them on. As she dressed, Dimitri struggled to hide himself under her bed, his legs poking out awkwardly from the bottom.

She unlocked her door, then opened it. Seteth stood, hands folded in front of him, eyes downcast. “Byleth. May I enter?”

“Ah, um, we can speak out here,” she said hastily, blushing. She stepped past her door, closing it behind her.

“As you wish, though you may want to sit.” He gestured to the stairs by her door. 

She shook her head. “Seteth, what is going on?”

* * *

As the Eagles and their escorts approached the crumbling chapel, Caiym’s body tensed. He held up a hand, looking to his father, who nodded.

Caiym drew his sword, approaching the grounds slowly, cautiously. Each step, each footfall, ran the risk of alerting whatever was beyond those walls to his presence. He was fairly certain he could slay any man that dared approach, yet he worried for his students. He peered around the gateway. 

And saw a quartet of beasts, wiry black frames looming tall above the undergrowth, breath a pale mist in the cold morning air. One glanced his way, meeting Caiym’s eyes.  _ So much for quiet, _ Sothis muttered.

“Eagles! Forward to me! Demonic beasts in the chapel!” he called, standing in the center of the gateway, holding his sword in both hands. Defensive stances would do him little good against these behemoths, but rushing in alone would only get him killed. 

Jeralt rode forward, lance outstretched. “I’ll pull their attention!” He passed by Caiym, wind whipping the standing mercenary’s coat and hair into a frenzy. Caiym glared, eyes darting between the beasts. “There are students in here!” Jeralt called back. “Hurry it up!”

On command, the Eagles rushed to Caiym’s side. Edelgard hefted her shield and her axe, moving beside him. Ferdinand followed Jeralt into the chapel grounds, his own lance and shield raised.

“Split up,” Caiym barked. “Caspar, Ferdinand, Edelgard; you three lead the others. Form up how you think is best. Priority is ensuring the other students are safe.” His orders complete, Caiym rushed forward, quickly catching up to his father. 

Jeralt poked at the creature with his spear, though the metal rang out against its hard flesh, the point all but useless. Caiym extended his sword, wrapping it around the beast’s claw as it sought to retaliate, then yanked, hard, cutting the creature’s arm off, a shower of black blood coating Jeralt and Caelum. As the sword retracted, Caiym leapt off the ground, plunging his blade into the disoriented creature’s throat. It tossed him aside with a howl, sending him tumbling to the ground, the sword still lodged in the beast’s throat. 

Jeralt and his horse rushed around in front of Caiym, and he threw his spear between the creature’s fangs and his son, bellowing wordlessly. The beast stepped back, paused, then lashed forward with blinding speed, snapping its jaws shut, just missing Caelum as Jeralt spurred his steed onward. Caiym rolled to his feet, drawing one of the daggers in his boot.

_ And just what do you plan to do with that?  _ Sothis asked, raising an eyebrow.  _ Get yourself killed? _

_ Maybe, _ he replied. Before moving, he glanced around the battlefield, briefly taking stock of his students. Edelgard, Petra, and Dorothea fought valiantly, Edelgard’s shield catching each attack from the creature as Petra and Dorothea attacked in concert, the singer’s magic weakening the beast’s hide for Petra’s strikes, and Petra’s speed keeping her safe from retaliation. Caspar, Linhardt, and Bernadetta fought similarly, with Caspar catching the beast’s claws with his own hands, tossing them aside. Linhardt’s wind cut small gaps in the beast’s side into which Bernadetta fired arrow after arrow. Ferdinand, Hubert, and Constance, meanwhile, took a different approach. As Ferdinand’s mounted passes and circling strides disoriented the creature, Hubert coated the beast’s hide in miasma, only for it to be flash-frozen by Constance and shattered, either by a follow-up spell from either of the spellcasters or a jab from Ferdinand’s lance.

“You doing okay, prof?” Monica called, grinning. “Thrilling enough for you?”

Caiym grunted, then leapt into the air. The beast roared, snapping at Jeralt and narrowly missing again. Caiym landed, dagger-first, on the creature’s head. He clutched to its snout and plunged his knife into its eye. The creature roared, raising its head, and Caiym let himself drop. He grabbed his sword, clutching the hilt, using his momentum to cut a deep gash in the creature’s throat.

Monica drew an unusual-looking knife from beneath her uniform coat, a cold, wicked grin spreading across her lips. She slashed vertically along the creature’s neck in a single motion, then reeled back and tossed the knife into its torso. She held her hand behind her and Caiym watched as the weapon flew from its resting place back into her hand. Shaking off the distraction, he plunged his sword into the beast’s back, then out, then in again. It bellowed, a mix of pain and rage audible in the cry. With a roar, Jeralt thrust his lance through the wound Monica had made, snapping the creature’s head back. It collapsed, and, as with Miklan, Caiym watched the body dissolve, leaving behind a young boy clad in a Garreg Mach officer’s uniform.

“Huh? The beast was a student?” Jeralt puzzled at the body. 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a fifth beast emerged from the ruined chapel behind him. Caiym opened his mouth to call out, but in the brief confusion, the creature snapped its jaws shut around Caelum’s flank. Jeralt screamed with rage and surprise, twisting to jab at the beast with his lance. It pulled back, taking the back half of the old horse with it.

Caiym leapt from the body of the fallen beast towards his father and Caelum. He planted the tip of his sword in the ground, using it as leverage to gain height, extending it into a whip. Jeralt stabbed fruitlessly at the beast as Caiym came down hard on its head, not so much as a sound escaping his lips. The weight and momentum snapped the creature downward, pinning its jaws to the ground. Monica whistled as she approached it, then slashed the creature across the throat, burying her unusual knife in the wound she’d made, twisting, and pulling it back out, leaving the broken beast to fade.

Jeralt sighed, rubbing the neck of his poor, faithful steed. “I’ll miss you, old boy,” he muttered. “Guess it was finally your time.”

Caiym looked up. His students had, of course, finished their work, or nearly done so. “It’s over.”

“Yeah, looks that way. Still, to think the beasts were actually students.” Jeralt shook his head. “How did this happen, anyway?”

Caiym frowned. “There’s another traitor.”

“Seems likely,” Jeralt agreed. “Hey, you. Uh, Monica, I think. Will you gather the rest of the brats? We’re gonna take a look at this chapel.”

“Oh, sure thing, sir!” she said, moving towards the Eagles. It took Caiym a few seconds to register the motion of her arm, the turn of her body, the twist of her knife in his father’s back, the cackle of laughter escaping her lips. She tore the knife from his body, blood dripping from the blade.

“We’re gonna take a look at this chapel.”

“Oh, sure thing, sir!” Monica said, moving toward the Eagles. Caiym extended his sword’s blade, hoping to catch her with it, to at least turn her aside, but something caught his sword. 

“We’re gonna take a look at this chapel.” His father hadn’t finished speaking before Caiym charged forward, his sword catching again on something unseen.

“We’re gonna take a look at this chapel.” Caiym threw a dagger in with his sword stroke, again, feeling his blade stop.

“We’re gonna take a look at this chapel.” Caiym roared, leaping to throw himself in front of Monica’s blade, but caught on the same unseen force. 

He shouted again as he watched Monica tear her knife from Jeralt’s back, a cruel smile spreading across her lips. “You’re just a pathetic old man.” 

The unseen figure, the cause of Caiym’s grief, made himself visible. Armored. Robed. Pale. White-haired. White-eyed. He grabbed Monica, and the two vanished.

Caiym focused, trying to draw out Sothis’ magic, but nothing came.

Unable to set time back further, he ran to his father’s side, clutching Jeralt in both arms. Jeralt, the invincible man who’d taught Caiym to be all he could, the pillar of strength that had raised the boy he’d been into the man he was, lay gasping for breath in his son’s arms.

“Sorry, kid. Seems like this is the end.”

Caiym struggled for words. His lip trembled. His gut ached. He was paralyzed, clutching at the dying man. Something fell from Caiym’s eye.

“Are you… crying?”

Caiym couldn’t respond. 

“To think, the first time you cry, your tears would be for me.” Jeralt smiled, closing his eyes. “Take care of your sister for me. She needs you.”

“Father!” Caiym cried, holding Jeralt closer to him. “You can’t die!”

Jeralt chuckled, though it quickly turned into a cough. “I love you, Caiym. Remember that.” Jeralt, the Blade Breaker, the invincible mercenary, Caiym’s father, who he never realized had meant the world to him, exhaled one last time.

Caiym let loose a wail of anguish.

* * *

Byleth listened quietly as Seteth explained the complications with her father and brother’s mission that morning.

Seteth struggled for a moment. “We were… we were betrayed. Monica von Ochs proved herself a conspirator working with Solon and the Death Knight.”

“Monica…? Oh, that redheaded student of my brother’s?” Byleth’s eyes widened at the realization. “Caiym! Is he okay?”

“Your brother is alive, yes.” Seteth shook his head. “But…”

“Oh, thank the goddess,” she said, exhaling, feeling a great release of tension. 

“But your father is gone.”

She paused. “Gone away to locate her?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “He is dead.”

Byleth stared blankly at Seteth. “I… I see.”

“I know it must be a lot to process,” he began, “and your brother did not take it well either, but rest assured, Lady Rhea and I will not rest until Jeralt’s death is avenged.”

She nodded. “Right. Of… of course.” She felt herself trembling. “How is…?”

“Your brother? It seems he was not wounded, though he is in quite the state of grief.” Seteth put a hand on her shoulder. “I understand if you need time to process this. Lady Rhea has offered the rest of this week and all of next as a period of rest for the both of you.”

She could only nod.

“You have my deepest condolences, professor. Please, take all the time you need.”

Seteth turned to walk away. She stood, motionless, for a moment, before the weight of his words hit her all at once. She realized she was on her knees, crying, as if watching it happen to her. She didn’t even notice as Dimitri pulled her to her feet and into a hug. She was agonizingly, paralyzingly, horribly numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP to both Jeralt and his kids' positive mental state. I hope, though, I did an okay job handling the emotional weight of the moment!  
> The next couple chapters don't really pick up much from here either, I'm sorry!!!! OTL
> 
> As always, thank you for the support! And if you like my work, please feel free to leave a comment! The support really does help make this feel worth it!


	17. Bloodlust and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert has a chat with his friends. Yuri learns something. Caiym doesn't understand how rings work. Byleth and Dimitri write a lesson plan. Leonie tries to talk to Bernadetta.  
> Monica and Tomas have fun in the woods.

#  Chapter Seventeen: Bloodlust and Beginnings

Something about the elimination of an unnecessary individual always brought a smile to Hubert’s face, and few were quite as unnecessary as Kronya.

He’d not even bothered feigning sympathy in the week and change that followed Jeralt’s death; he’d, in fact, quite disdained Lady Edelgard’s crocodile tears on behalf of  _ her teacher _ , but he supposed such things were unavoidable, given her guise of the dutiful student and house leader. Perhaps, given that heart of hers that he so adored, she’d even felt some of that grand display of sympathy, though why she bothered getting so emotional over an inhuman machine was far beyond him. Still, his liege had, of course, indicated a lingering desire to turn the demon into an asset, a feat likely as easy to accomplish with a pointed finger and a monosyllabic order such as “kill” or “maim” or the like. Not that Hubert disrespected the demon’s prowess on the battlefield, nor his cleverness in utilizing his far-from-meager abilities to their fullest potential, but the demon was far from a worthy intellectual adversary, and far from a difficult-to-manipulate paragon like Catherine, the Faerghus prince, or that bullheaded Duscur man. All Hubert would have to do to remain on the demon’s good side, at this juncture, was not raise hand against the demon’s sister, a creature so pathetic he’d never seen a need to so much as interact with her, and not raise hand against the other Black Eagles, a task monumentally more difficult given the existence of  _ Ferdinand Von Aegir _ , that worthless “noblest of nobles” who would be lucky to survive the forthcoming purge, and even then only on the mercy of Lady Edelgard. Certainly not Hubert’s mercy, for he had none to spare for such a pompous, arrogant ass. The rest of them were fine, he supposed.

For the moment, he remained out of sight, though a close enough distance from the “secret meeting” that Thales had so insistently  _ demanded _ occur on monastery soil that he could at least hear as the duo of subhumans conversed with the “Flame Emperor,” acting as spy and interpreter of the meeting for his liege whenever she saw fit to demand his explanation of what had occurred. At present, it was something akin to a strategy meeting, or whatever passed as “strategy” in the cavernous skulls of the cruel beasts masquerading as people. Nothing in particular caught his interest, other than the partnership of Kronya and Solon. He considered his options. Two of the subhumans would be in the same location at the same time. He had access to a roster of well-trained, if rough around the edges, nobility and Dorothea, not to mention a still-enraged demon on a leash. Perhaps he would utilize the Faerghus prince and the meek second Eisner as well? This was, of course, to say nothing of the Gautier boy his liege had been trying her damnedest to recruit for whatever reason, and perhaps even the Ordelia girl… Not a plan yet, but not a bad start to one.

He paused. Footfalls. Heavy ones. Metal boots. Large body, or at least tall. Moving quickly, no, taking a single step. An attack. He rose, caught a glance of “the Flame Emperor'' tossing a dagger at the Faerghus prince, the Eisner woman in tow. He quickly withdrew the hidden wand under his coat sleeve and, with a flick of his wrist, he pulled “the Flame Emperor,” the subhumans, and himself away from their foolishly open “meeting ground” and into the distant Sealed Forest.

“You are quite lucky,” Hubert began, “that my last recall point was here, and not my own bedroom.” He slid the wand back into its hiding spot. “Had it been such a cramped location, I would be quite unable to speak for your survival.”

Thales raised an eyebrow. “A threat? Do you think that wise, young Vestra?”

“Did you think meeting in the open like that to be wise?” he countered.

“I thought it convenient,” Thales replied with a half-smile. Hubert fantasized about disintegrating the beast’s skin, watching the flesh peel from the bone as he melted away. Idle fantasies did not suit him, of course, but he did so abhor these creatures.

“Speaking of convenient,” Kronya interrupted, glancing around, still in her guise as Monica. “This is where I’ll be working with Solon, right?” She grinned. “That works out perfectly then.”

Edelgard removed her mask. Hubert approached her. “Allow me, my lady,” he said, setting about removing her armor plating. 

“Ah, thank you, Hubert.” She sighed. “Is that all you had to say, Thales?”

“That will do for now, Flame Emperor,” Thales said, smiling coldly. “I will be in contact when you are needed again.” He vanished in a jet of red light.

“Worthless cur,” Hubert spat.

Kronya snickered. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“My apologies, have I not made my disdain for you abominations quite as apparent as I’d meant to?” he said, smiling his own cold smile at her.

“Ah, and here I thought it was jealousy on your lady’s behalf,” she said, grinning. “After all, I got to the Fell Star first.”

Just one single spell, that’s all it would take. A flick of his wrist and she would be no more, unable to prattle on endlessly about nothing, spouting nonsense worse than even Caspar, who made up for his idiocy by at least being earnest and useful. It was just for now, he told himself. Only for now would he suffer this  _ thing _ to live. 

One by one, he would see them all brought low, tormented the way  _ she _ had been tormented, hurt the way she had hurt, and only then would he allow them the mercy of a painful death.

But for now, he would simply have to wait.

* * *

“The sealed forest? You’re certain?” Yuri asked, studying his subordinate for any trace of ill intent, any trace of deception, any trace of possibility the man could be lying. As much as he cared for his men, in his line of work, paranoia paid far more than sentiment. Josef here had never been particularly  _ un _ trustworthy, but the weight of this information was enough that he had to be completely convinced of its veracity before he passed it along. Josef’s unassuming, stubble-ridden face, that of a boy on the cusp of manhood, betrayed nothing, though Yuri noted the way he didn’t so much as brush the curly hair from his eye, belying a fear of  _ seeming _ less-than-truthful; a lot of thought went into  _ not _ performing such an unconscious action, after all.

“I’m sure, boss,” Josef replied, snapping into a bow. “She and some unusual mages and soldiers are gathered there. It looks like they’re planning an attack.”

“Curious that they haven’t moved yet, but it makes sense that they’d attack while the knights are out.” Yuri put a hand to his chin. “Thanks for your work. Take the rest of the day off.” Josef bowed again, departing. Yuri turned to the rogue beside him, a Dagdan refugee named Malka, her black hair in a side-shave, hanging down over roughly half her face. “Mal, follow him,” he ordered, keeping his tone level. “If he’s betrayed us, kill him and toss his body off the monastery.” Malka nodded, stepping out of his office. He sighed. “Why is it so damned hard to find good help these days?”

He leaned forward onto his desk, hands folded in front of him, head resting just behind them. If what Josef said was true, then their best course of action would be a pre-emptive strike. Yet something seemed wrong about the entire situation. There was, of course, the possibility - probability, in fact - this was an ambush, and Josef was working with whoever had set that up. In that case, he would have Mal dispose of the traitor, of course, but it meant a slightly deeper problem for Yuri. Where you found one mole, you would likely find a whole damn nest of them. There were few he could trust to not be compromised. Balthus, Hapi, and Constance were given, Malka was not likely to have been swayed either, and the Abysskeeper was unlikely to be turned against him either. Still, maybe it was about time for him to run an inquisition, weed out the weak links and informants. He frowned. He certainly didn’t relish the thought of potentially turning his blades on his own men, but, eh, nothing to be done about that as of right now.

He stood, stretching. He’d wait to relay Josef’s information until after Malka returned, he figured. For now, he’d pay a visit to his Ladybird, maybe grab the little Sparrow - a name he’d taken to calling Ashe of late - and Hapi, grab lunch as a group. That didn’t sound half-bad.

* * *

Caiym hurt, yet not in a way he could ignore, bandage, or heal. Jeralt was gone. His student had betrayed him. It was an ache he couldn’t describe. Even the discovery of his father’s diary and the jeweled ring had done nothing to quell the pain. 

Jeralt had mentioned something about giving the ring to someone important to him. Caiym rolled the ring around in his palm, studying it carefully. 

_ Sothis, would this fit you?  _ he asked.

She paled.  _ No, and you wouldn’t want it to. _

__ _ Why not? _

__ _ It’s not meant for someone like me, you dolt! It’s meant for someone special, and not confined within your head. _

__ _ Oh. _

__ He rolled the ring between his thumb and forefinger.  _ Perhaps I should give it to Byleth then. _

Sothis cackled at that.  _ It’s also not meant for family. Someone special that isn’t related to you. _

__ He stared at it, not understanding.

A small knock on his bedroom door interrupted his musing. He pocketed the ring, then made his way to the door, undoing his locks and sliding the door open a small amount. Bernadetta stood in front of his door, fidgeting her hands. He closed the door, undid the final lock, and opened his door again.

“U-Um, hi professor,” she said. “I-I came to check on you.”

“Did you?”

“I-I also put some flowers on Jeralt’s grave for you.” She tensed, clearly reflexively.

He struggled a moment, then managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“D-Don’t mention it,” she said, blushing. 

He thought for a moment. “Would you like to come in? I have cake.”  _ What a completely normal thing to say, _ Sothis said, rolling her eyes.

“Cake?” Bernadetta’s eyes lit up. “I-I guess I could stay for a few minutes.”

He nodded, and dug his hidden stash of cake out from his desk drawer. It was his favorite, marble cake, with vanilla cream frosting, topped with strawberries. Even hurting as he was, he couldn’t help but grab it from the dining hall when he saw it. He withdrew a cake knife and a pair of stolen forks from beside it and cut each of them a slice, meticulously ensuring they were of equal size. He handed Bernadetta hers, using a napkin as a makeshift plate. They sat together on the floor.

“Oh this is tasty!” she said between bites.

“It is,” he said as he chewed. He swallowed. “I think it was Ingrid’s birthday cake.”

“And she let you take it?” Bernadetta stared, wide-eyed.

“Not exactly.”

“So this is… stolen cake! Illicit sweets! Pilfered baked goods!” She let out a squealing scream. “I can’t be caught with this! I’ll be implicated for your… your confectionary crimes!”

He laughed, harder than he ever had before. For a brief moment, his pain was forgotten. Everything fell away.

He looked at Bernadetta again. She was smiling, still eating the cake happily despite her protests. He felt a strange tightness in his chest, an urge to stay with her like this forever. 

He reached into his pocket.

“Bernadetta,” he began. She looked up at him. “My father… left me this ring. I don’t really understand, but he told me to give it to someone special.” He placed it in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “To me, you’re someone special. Someone irreplaceable. I want you to remember that.”

Bernadetta stared at her hand. “Um, professor, was this his w-w-wed…?”

“His wedding ring, yes.”

She blushed a bright, almost glowing red. She let out a loud scream, and ran from his room. 

He stared after her.  _ Did I do something wrong? _

__ _ When do you not?  _ Sothis chided.  _ I’m sorry, that one was mean. _

__ “Professor.” Hubert seemed to manifest from nowhere. “I do hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“Not really.”

“I see. Well, I have some most  _ fascinating _ news for you.”

* * *

Though Byleth’s heart still ached, she’d dutifully resumed her position teaching the officer’s academy students once her allotted time off ended. She couldn’t be certain how many days had passed since she returned; they blurred together into a long, empty stretch of time that felt at once terrifyingly real and unimaginably fake. She’d come to terms with the thought of losing her father, of course, she’d been the one to tend his wounds when they got severe enough to necessitate it, and because of that, she’d had to conceptualize her father’s mortality pretty quickly, but even so, having it actualized like this was something else. 

In these dark moments, she found herself ever more grateful for Dimitri. He’d not only stepped up in terms of their secret relationship, but also, he’d taken on extra duties as the head of her class, coordinating combat drills, overseeing training missions, and even helping her organize lessons, as he was doing now.

The pair were in Byleth’s room, door closed to retain the meager heat from her lit candles. Byleth leaned against her desk, quill in hand, tapping it lightly against her cheek. Dimitri stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder at the lesson plan, such as it was; the page remained blank, and Byleth could only stare at it, her expression just as blank.

“Perhaps we lead off with combat drills in the morning, followed by your lecture after lunch?” Dimitri offered.

Byleth shook her head. “The Golden Deer have the training hall in the morning.”

“Morning lecture, then?”

“Grades tend to slip if I lecture in the mornings,” she sighed. “Especially yours.”

He chuckled nervously. “No morning lecture, then.”

She groaned in frustration, letting herself drop forward onto the desk. “There is no point to this!” 

Dimitri put his hand on her back, between her shoulders. “I assure you there is, even if your mind wanders. But that’s okay. It takes time to readjust after the loss of someone dear.” He paused, his tone darkened. “And as I told you before, your enemies are my enemies. Should you find the only way to break this barrier is vengeance, I will be right beside you.”

Vengeance.

The notion didn’t sound half bad. It had taken every ounce of her self-control not to lash out and attack the trio of conspirators they’d stumbled onto just the other day right alongside Dimitri, though she knew of course it would be pointless. Still, she wanted nothing more than to crush that cruel little redhead’s throat with her own hands. Even the thought of her boiled her blood. Byleth sat up straight, closed her eyes. She raised her hands to the center of her chest, taking a deep breath in, then slowly lowered them as she exhaled. When she opened her eyes again, Dimitri was staring at her with a puzzled expression.

“Ah, that was a meditative exercise practiced in Morfis, I believe. I picked it up from a book,” she explained, somewhat sheepishly. 

“Ever the scholar,” he said with a small chuckle. She shoved him playfully, and he retaliated by lifting her from the chair with ease, pulling her to him, and kissing her. 

She buried her face in his shoulder. “It grows no easier, being without him,” she murmured.

“I know,” he replied softly, tightening his hug briefly. “It never gets easier. You just learn to live with the pain, with the hole in your heart where your father should be.”

She laughed bitterly as tears welled in her eyes. “The last he saw of me, I was crying. Crying because of something stupid from months ago.”

“I’m sure he thought no less of you for that.”

“He thought of me as a burden!” she cried. The tears wouldn’t stop now. “That is all I could ever be to him. Just a burden.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true. He loved you and your brother both very much.” Dimitri kissed the side of her head. “He told me, while you were in the infirmary, that if I were to ever hurt you, he would torture me, or something of the sort.” He laughed quietly. “I would say that means he loved you quite a lot.”

She couldn’t reply. Her body shook as she sobbed into his shoulder. It was as if the heartache were fresh again, as if she were there again. The pain in her stomach wouldn’t abate.

The two stood there for some time, even after Byleth had stopped crying. She savored the feel of him against her, the comfort that came from his arms.

A series of three short knocks caught their attention. Byleth kissed Dimitri quickly, then stepped away, opening her door to face her brother.

Caiym looked troubled, and spoke quickly. “Sister. They found her. They found Monica.”

* * *

Leonie had been crying again.

Captain Jeralt’s death still didn’t feel real to her, and she doubted it ever would. He was a titan more than he was a man in her eyes. He’d been the best teacher she could have asked for, and he was gone. 

She’d avoided the Eisner siblings, not because she hated them or anything, rather, because she didn’t want to make their shared mourning seem like a competition. However bad the loss of a teacher felt, she was certain it couldn’t compare to the loss of a parent.

She figured Caiym would be at the training grounds and Byleth in the library, so she’d volunteered to help at the greenhouse. It was work enough to keep her moving, but unfortunately not to keep her thoughts from wandering, back to Seteth delivering the news of her mentor’s passing. She was grateful for the isolation.

A scream broke her concentration. It sounded like Bernadetta! She bolted out the front of the greenhouse, readying to leap into battle in the defense of her friend. She was running, past the fishing pond, clearly towards her room. Leonie stepped just slightly out of her path and waved to her. “Bernadetta! You okay?”

She screamed and ran past Leonie, who watched as she bolted into her room and slammed the door. 

Leonie shook her head, then knocked on the door. “Can we at least talk through this?” she asked.

“Yes!” Bernadetta squeaked.

“Great. What’s got you so terrified?” She sat down, leaning her left side against the door.

“Happy! Scared. Not ready? Confused.”

“That’s definitely a list of feelings,” Leonie said, frowning. “Do they mean anything?”

There was no response for a moment. “Ring!” Bernadetta cried.

“Ring?” Now her head hurt. At least she was getting somewhere?

“Had cake, got ring. Not ready! Father wants, but I can’t, and-and…” she screamed again.

“Now there’s cake involved?” Leonie scratched her head. “Can’t you just tell me what happened?”

“I did!” she yelled.

Leonie raised an eyebrow. “Okay then. Great talking to you, Bernadetta.” She stood, about to return to her work in the greenhouse, when she caught sight of the Eisners marching her way, alongside Dimitri, Dedue, Hubert, and Edelgard. Byleth stepped in front of the group. Leonie had never seen her look quite so… serious. Determined. It reminded her of the Captain.

“Leonie,” Caiym greeted.

“Hubert tells us he has found father’s murderer,” Byleth said, her voice flat. “Would you like a chance for revenge?”

Leonie nodded. “I’ll get by weapons.”

* * *

It didn’t take the seven of them too long to find Monica. She stood in a clearing in front of the sealed forest, surrounded by beasts and soldiers bearing the insignia of the Flame Emperor’s army.

Byleth scowled at the creature in front of her. Her body tensed. Her hands twitched, eager to grasp the wretch’s throat and wring the life from her horrid lungs. Beside her, Dimitri took a step forward, readying his lance. Leonie hefted her bow. Caiym simply stared.

“You’re finally here! Welcome to the forest of death!” Monica called. She reached a hand to her forehead, grabbing just below her hairline, and pulled, cackling, tearing the skin, revealing a pallid, ash-gray face beneath. She tore the rest of her mask away, casting it aside, and shrugged, letting the rest of her false self fall away in front of them. Orange hair fell in front of one of her bright red eyes. The other was marked with a tattoo, a line and a teardrop. Her outfit was scant, skin-tight, with strange tails curling forward, around her, from her back. Just as well for Byleth, then, that she did not wear the face of a monastery student when her life came to its violent end. “You can call me Kronya,” the creature laughed.

“Monster! You’ll die for what you’ve done!” Dimitri roared, charging. His rush was interrupted by a beast, though he threw his spear between himself and the creature before its bite could do any damage.

“Monica!” Leonie shouted, letting loose an arrow. 

“I told you!” Kronya screamed, sidestepping her shot, “My name is  _ Kronya _ ! Don’t call me that fake name!”

“It doesn’t matter  _ what _ you’re called! It doesn’t matter if it takes my last breath, I  _ will _ kill you!” Leonie fired, again and again. 

Kronya dodged easily, glaring. She raised a hand forward and her soldiers moved to attack them.

Dedue and Edelgard stepped to the front lines, shields at the ready. Hubert roared with laughter, flinging spells above the wall in front of him and into the enemy line. Caiym stood, eyes locked on Kronya, his face registering a hurt Byleth couldn’t comprehend. 

Seeing her brother like that was the final straw. Everything slowed, seemed tinted red. She could think of nothing more than ending the life of the creature that had done this. Byleth channeled her magic into her legs, stepped back a few paces, ran forward, and leapt, clearing over her students and the enemies alike, landing a few feet shy of the startled Kronya, catching herself with her hand, then rising, locking her narrowed eyes with the monster in front of her.

“Do you have a death wish or something? I expect this shit from prof, not from  _ you _ , you spineless worm!” Kronya raised her knife, twirling it into a reverse grip. “What, exactly, was your plan?”

“I am going to kill you,” Byleth said, her voice devoid of emotion. 

Kronya laughed. “A useless  _ burden _ like you? Kill me?”

One of the Flame Emperor’s soldiers rushed at Byleth. She sidestepped his spear, pulled him forward, grabbed the back of his head, and, with a single motion, crushed his skull, dropping the body to the ground. Her eyes never left Kronya. “I am going to kill you,” she repeated.

Kronya took a hesitant step back. Byleth stepped over the body on the ground, crushing it more beneath her heel. Kronya lunged forward, tossing her knife at Byleth’s center mass. Byleth knocked it aside with a wave of her arm. Kronya took another step, thrusting forward with her hand, stabbing with an empty fist, as her knife reappeared in hand. Byleth didn’t care. She grabbed the wretch’s wrist, yanking her arm to the side, and stepped forward, reaching her hands for Kronya’s throat. 

Kronya pushed away from her, dropping into a roll. She regained her footing, looked at Byleth briefly, and turned tail and ran, bolting into the forest. Byleth followed, heedless of anything else. Kronya stumbled, tripping onto some kind of stone platform. Byleth followed. She leapt onto the stone, pinning the creature beneath her, her knee on Kronya’s gut, arms holding Kronya’s down. She threw a quick punch to her face, enhancing it with magic, releasing Kronya’s knife arm. Kronya, predictably, stabbed at her, and Byleth grabbed her wrist, twisting, crushing, shattering the bone. Kronya screamed. Byleth took the opportunity to clutch her throat. She squeezed, jamming her thumbs into Kronya’s windpipe. Kronya choked, struggled, but to no avail. Byleth enhanced her strength more. She stood, dragging Kronya to her feet.

Byleth felt a cruel laugh escape her lips.

* * *

Caiym slashed a beast in half, sparing no time to worry about anything but his sister. He bolted through the forest after Byleth and Monica, slicing through the branches with his sword. He emerged on the other side to find the two standing on some sort of stone platform.

It took him a moment to process the fact that Byleth’s hands were around Monica’s throat. She was laughing, smiling her eyes wild. “Sister?” he called, stepping up to approach her.

She turned, meeting his eyes with a twisted, contorted look of disgust overtaking her. He stepped back. He’d never seen such hatred in his sister’s eyes. She turned back to Monica, who struggled, though her movements weakened. 

“Sister, stop!” he blurted, unable to stop himself. “That’s my student!”

“I’ll kill you,” she muttered. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill kill kill kill kill…”

Caiym hesitated.

“It seems, Kronya,” a familiar voice called, “you need my help.” Caiym turned, facing the wizened, hunched form of Solon, whose lips curled into a vicious smile.

* * *

A jet of black light cleared the top of the trees. Hubert frowned.  _ So it seems the demon was no good for the job after all. No matter,  _ he thought.

He watched with some amusement as the Faerghus prince ripped his way through Kronya’s protectors, a cruel smile spread across his face that would rival Hubert’s own. Lady Edelgard stood side-by-side with the Duscur man, their shields nicely covering each other’s vulnerabilities, Hubert noted. Perhaps another armored soldier at her side would be an asset worth pursuing. The Sauin girl was no slouch either; her arrows tore through soldiers and beast alike. Despite her lack of a crest, she was one to watch. Perhaps he would offer her some financial compensation for aid in their cause? She’d mentioned something about living a sellsword’s life, not that he cared.

“Hubert!” his liege called. “We must investigate that light at once!”

He nodded. “Then let us end this.” He ceased restraining himself. With a wave of his hand, a whirl of darkness erupted from the air around the remaining combatants. He gripped his fist, and the darkness solidified, slicing and whipping at the soldiers and beasts. Some died, fewer than he’d hoped, but the remainder were swiftly cut down for their trouble. He smirked. “Let us move forward, my lady.”

* * *

“Where are we?” Caiym asked, looking around at the overwhelming nothing that surrounded them.

Sothis sighed, this time not at the man whose mind she’d shared for so long, but rather at her uncomfortable circumstances. “We are nowhere, I would surmise,” she said, glancing around as well.

“How do we get somewhere?” He tilted his head in that endearing-yet-frustrating way he always did.

She smiled. Whatever she might’ve said in the past, she couldn’t deny how much she’d come to care for this incorrigible, irreconcilable, irredeemable imbecile of hers. “ _ We _ don’t. But  _ you _ do.”

“I don’t understand.” He put his hand to his chin. “You have to come with me, right?”

Sothis struggled to keep from crying. “Not this time.” She took a step towards him. “I’m sorry to leave you so soon after your father, but I will be with you.”

His eyes widened. “No! No, you can’t! There must be something, some way I can… we can…”

“Don’t be so quick to throw your life away for me.” She frowned. “You  _ should _ be throwing your life away for those lovable students of yours.”

“Sothis, please! I can’t function without you, you know that! I’m an idiot!” he cried.

“You’re an idiot,” she sighed, “but you’re not incapable without me. I’ll always be with you, whether you hear me or not.”

“Sothis…”

“Silence! I’ll hear no more argument on this matter.” She beamed the best she could at him. “I love you, you utter buffoon.”

He hugged her. She could already feel her body fading away as she gave what was left of herself to him.  _ Good luck, Caiym. You’ll need it. _

Time seemed to split asunder. The darkness vanished from around them.

Caiym shielded their eyes from the light, briefly. They hefted the sword of the creator, staring down Solon. Byleth lay on the ground, just off the stone platform, where they had thrown her to protect her from this spell. Monica lay beside her, not breathing. They turned back to Solon. 

“Impossible,” Solon gasped. “What could you have seen in the darkness of Zaharas?”

They ignored his words, assessing him as a threat. He’d been responsible for Remire. For Monica’s death, through ripping out her heart for whatever that spell was. For Sothis.

Everything they hated had been at his hand. Father. Monica. Sothis. Remire. Perhaps even Byleth’s hurt was somehow this man’s fault. Caiym glared. They would not suffer this beast to live a second longer. Not just for vengeance. Not just because Solon was a threat. Simply because they despised him.

They took a step forward, and Solon retreated. The pattern continued, until Solon found a cliff to his back. Solon flailed, trying to cast something, evidently? They didn’t care.

“Trying to run, Solon?” Hubert mused from somewhere behind Caiym. “I should very much think not. Professor, would you kindly?”

Caiym took one final step forward, bringing their blade down upon Solon’s head, cleaving the man nearly in half. They turned to face their students, wobbled, and collapsed, darkness swallowing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caiym suffering part whatever: RIP Sothis, you lovable gremlin, you. ;.;  
> So! Couple things!  
> This chapter serves not just to advance the plot, but to set up PoV characters for the (coming up sooner than I'd like aaaaaa) Part 2 chapters. Namely:  
> -Byleth, obvs  
> -Hubert, our eye into the Empire's day-to-day (I can't help it, he's fun to write)  
> -Leonie, our liaison into what the Alliance is doing  
> -Yuri, an infrequent PoV but one that shows things the other three might not be privy to
> 
> Also, post-merge, Caiym uses they/them pronouns. This was requested by my beta reader, and I like it, so it's a thing now. Caiym is still a good boi.
> 
> As always, thank you for your support!!


	18. Broken Bonds and Empty Thrones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which masks are removed from Dimitri, Edelgard, Rhea, Sylvain, and Caiym, among others, and Byleth has a conversation with Byleth.

#  Chapter Eighteen: Broken Bonds and Empty Thrones

Dimitri exhaled, trying and failing to regain at least a little bit of focus through the sleepless haze he’d found himself in. He stood with the rest of the Blue Lions, as well as Leonie, who had insisted on joining their training sessions, waiting in the dim early morning light for Catherine to at last arrive at the training ground and begin their combat instruction. Caiym was goddess-knows-where with Edelgard and Hubert, placing the taciturn professor under yet more of Dimitri’s suspicion, thus Catherine had taken over their training.

When at last she did arrive, Catherine paired them off, seemingly at random. Her method for “training” them was just making them spar one another. As much as he liked Catherine, she wasn’t an instructor, and it showed. Even Caiym was able to at least push the students to their limits. He missed Byleth. She’d seemed to be avoiding him ever since the forest, not that he blamed her given how unhinged he’d gotten.

He readied a training lance, facing down Sylvain, who spun his own lance and dropped into a defensive stance. 

“How’s Byleth?” Sylvain asked, standing still, readying to block or parry as needed.

“You know as well as I do,” Dimitri replied, studying Sylvain’s guard, searching for an opening or a weakness in his stance.

“I’m not so sure,” he said casually. “You tend to see a lot more of her than the rest of us.”

Dimitri began to circle Sylvain, who followed easily. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh I think you know damn well what I mean.” Dimitri could hear the venom in his friend’s words. “Sneaking out of her room late at night? Slipping away to be with her whenever you’ve got free time? Did you think no one noticed?” Sylvain lunged forward, striking for center-mass.

“You’re imagining things.” Dimitri deflected Sylvain’s strike, clumsily, but effectively enough to not get hit. He retaliated with a swipe from his lance’s handle. “And besides, we all know your feelings about her, however you came by them.”

Sylvain ducked under the blow, retaliating with a sweep of his own. “She’s a miserable person.”

Dimitri stepped back. “She’s depressed, Sylvain!” He readied his lance again. “It’s unfair to judge her for something like that!”

“She’s using you!” Sylvain roared, charging forward, lance point first. 

Dimitri sidestepped. “She isn’t!” He jabbed forward with his lance’s handle again, knocking Sylvain off-balance. He followed up by jabbing quickly, a series of three stabs, pushing Sylvain backwards.

“She is!” Sylvain countered, launching his lance forward, catching the very back end of the grip, connecting with Dimitri’s stomach. “She’s just chasing your throne and your crest, why can’t you see that?”

Dimitri stumbled backward, awkwardly spinning his lance to block his repeated strikes. “Where is this coming from, Sylvain?”

“Did you know she was a guest at one of Duke Ludwig von Aegir’s noble parties? That she’s been on the arms of multiple noblemen throughout Adrestia? Leicester? Even Brigid?” Sylvain stepped forward with each question, striking swiftly.

“Where did you hear that?” Dimitri parried again and again, though he was losing ground.

“I’ve done some digging, for your sake!” He threw his strength into a powerful forward thrust. “You’re my friend, damn it!”

Dimitri sidestepped the lance. “And you didn’t think to ask my opinion on all of this? B-Besides, you’re mistaken about us!”

“You’re blind, Dimitri!” Sylvain spun in a full circle, using his momentum to increase the strength of his swing.

Dimitri ducked under the attack. “And you’re grasping at straws!” He rose, switching his lance to a wider grip.

“Face it,  _ your highness, _ you’ve fallen in love with a common whore!”

Dimitri saw red. The next thing he knew, Sylvain was on the ground, across the training hall from him. Dimitri’s hands held the broken halves of a training lance. Every eye was upon him. 

Sylvain rose to his feet. “Hope you’re happy with her,” he said, glaring. Sylvain stormed out. Ingrid ran to follow him.

“Congratulations, boar,” Felix hissed. “You’ve pushed someone  _ else _ away.”

* * *

Byleth was failing her students, and she knew it. She’d tried, from the very beginning, to be the teacher they needed, they deserved, and she was failing. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d spoken to Hilda, though she assumed it was the day just before the ball. Even Dimitri avoided her now. Sylvain had all-but left the Blue Lions, his attempts at switching classes stymied by Edelgard and Caiym’s absence, though he had ceased attending Byleth’s lectures. Felix didn’t speak to her anymore. The rest treated her cautiously, like she was volatile and set to explode at any time, which, she supposed, was a fair assessment after the sealed forest.

As if she needed more reasons to hate herself.

She sat alone in her room, where she’d spent her free time since the incident in the forest, only emerging to lecture and, very occasionally, to eat. It was better this way, for them at least, if not for her. She deserved this isolation, she thought.

She stared blankly at the open book in front of her. It had been a favorite of hers, once. It was always difficult to find books about her personal hero, Pan the strategist, given his lack of desire for publication, and this one,  _ A Record of Faerghus’ Fight for Independence _ , had the most information she could find. She’d read it through twice already, and she’d hoped the familiarity would be of some minor comfort to her, but the words all blurred together into meaningless expanses of ink on the page. 

She hadn’t realized just how much of her newfound strength had depended on Dimitri, how much she’d needed him.

_ You’ve always depended too much on others.  _ The voice in her head was suspiciously like her brother’s. 

_ Of course I have,  _ she countered.  _ I have always been weaker than they think I am. _

__ _ That’s a lie. _

_ It is not! _ The inherent ridiculousness of arguing with her own thoughts was not lost on her.  _ Even father called me a burden. _

__ _ You’re only a burden when you make yourself into a burden. You’re intelligent, well-read, clever with your magic, patient, kind, and well-spoken.  _

__ _ I am none of these things. _

__ _ You are all of these things. You’re also hurt. Damaged. Not broken. Damaged, but alive.  _

__ “What of it?” she shrieked aloud. 

_ Whatever strength keeps you going is your own.  _ The voice sounded like her own: soft, gentle, caring. _ You’ve had many opportunities to end it, but you haven’t, despite wanting to. You’ve only lost yourself once. You killed an enemy and attempted to kill one more, something your students have done far too often. You’re not a monster. They isolate you because they don’t know how to approach you when you’re like this.  _

__ _ I’ve failed them. _

__ _ Not yet. You’re on the path to it, but there’s still time to change that. You’ve taught them well thus far. _

__ _ Father called me a burden. _

__ _ He called your sadness “burdensome,” not you. Is it not heavy, carrying all of this hurt with you? I know letting go is harder than it sounds, but isn’t it worth it to try? _

__ _ Dimitri is avoiding me. _

__ _ He hurts in his own way, and you know that. Neither of you is making an effort for the other right now, both wallowing in your own pain. _

__ _ Caiym is avoiding me. _

__ _ Caiym has changed. They act differently. They speak differently. They are no more avoiding you than Dimitri is. _

__ _ Sylvain hates me. _

__ _ Does that matter? You need not be liked by everyone, as long as those who you hold close remain.  _

__ _ I am weak. _

__ _ You are hurting. You lost your father. Let yourself grieve for a moment without blaming yourself for his death. _

__ _ I sold my body. _

__ _ You were young, you were hurt, and you felt trapped. Do you begrudge others their mistakes? You’re not too far gone. You just need to learn to live for yourself. Learn to love yourself as they all love you: Caiym, Dimitri… your father. Or was what you said to Dimitri that day a lie? It’ll take time, of course, but forgiving yourself is the first step. Go easy on yourself. You’ll stumble, but as long as you pick yourself back up again, you’ll never truly fail. _

__ Byleth hugged her knees. She’d been crying for some time, but it was different now. Her teardrops each contained the things that had hurt her that she’d kept inside, finally making their way out, the weight within her lessening with each sob. She cried for her father, for her brother, for her lover, and for herself, for the years she had lost.

* * *

Hubert stood, pointedly ignoring the chair across from Thales, who still wore the skin of Lord Arundel, though even the masquerade of humanity couldn’t quite enshroud the telltale  _ stink _ of one of his kind. The two were in a little-used office in the Imperial Palace, one which had been the newly-deposed Prime Minister’s, in fact. It was disgustingly lavish, with walls of crimson, satin-cushioned chairs, a desk of polished wood that was far too large and quite unblemished, indicating its disuse, and rows upon rows of bookshelves, the very titles of which likely still unread by Ludwig von Aegir, a portrait of whom sat just behind the desk, as if to remind the unfortunate visitors to this room of who, exactly, it belonged to. 

“I suppose I should get this out of the way: What happened to Kronya and Solon, Vestra?” Thales asked.

Hubert maintained his smile. It always amused him when this particular snake didn’t bother with pretense. It made mocking him quite easy. “It would seem that they have met with an unfortunate accident.”

“And this ‘accident’ had nothing to do with you?” Thales leaned forward, studying him. 

Hubert could have laughed. This lowly creature could never hope to affect him, to glean anything from his carefully-maintained serenity. “I was present for it, but both Lady Edelgard and myself had little to do with what happened.”

“And you didn’t see fit to stop it?” Thales raised an eyebrow. Performative, of course; this slithering reprobate sought only to elicit a reaction from him, or perhaps draw out a confession, one Hubert would not give.

“Doing so would have destroyed our  _ precious _ cover. Not one but two professors were present, not to mention the prince of Faerghus and his lapdog. Killing so many witnesses is bound to leave a trail, and any trail we leave will, inevitably, lead to you.” Hubert folded his arms behind his back.

“Your negligence has cost us dearly. Kronya’s death was ordained, but Solon…” Thales frowned. “He had not yet expended his use to us. Tell me, why did he not retreat?” 

“I imagine retreat does not come easily with a sword through one’s skull. Quite dreadful, I’m afraid.” 

Thales narrowed his eyes at him. “Your mockery is quite unwelcome.”

“I should hope you are quite acquainted with my mockery by now,” he said flatly. 

Thales stood, slamming his hand on the table. Hubert didn’t so much as blink. “Do you even care how thin of a line you walk, conjurer? I could have you killed on the grounds of insubordination alone!”

“Yet you do not.” Hubert chuckled darkly. “You are quite aware that my death would lose you Her Imperial Majesty’s loyalty, and your plan cannot survive without her upon the throne. I am not so bold as to act against you, you must know this, but this does not mean that I am required to  _ like _ a loathsome vermin such as yourself.” He smirked. “Consider me warned of the price of my continued treachery, and consider yourself warned of the consequences of lashing out.” He looked upon Thales with a mixture of disgust, scorn, and amusement. “Now then,  _ Lord Arundel,  _ you had best be scurrying back to your  _ pit _ , no?”

“You make your move upon her return,” Thales said simply, moving around past Hubert. “This charade is at its end.”

Hubert nodded. “I agree. I am quite sick of play-acting.” His smile never faded. He allowed himself a short laugh as Thales slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Caiym sat in a lavish carriage beside the newly-crowned Adrestian Emperor, who had instructed them quite clearly not to inform anyone else. They adjusted their new white half-robe, a gift from Lady Rhea, resting their diadem on the seat beside them, opposite Edelgard.

“I was quite surprised you took my invitation, my teacher,” she said with a smile. “I had assumed for some time that you would deny me for one reason or another, and I would be forced to take the throne in solitude.”

“You trusted me enough to ask,” they replied. “And you’re my student.”

She laughed. “You must hold each of us students in very high regard.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, how strong is your bond with us?” Her smile faded. “What if one of us were to do something considered blasphemous and irredeemable, what then?”

“Nothing is irredeemable,” they said simply.

“Blasphemous and irredeemable to the church, then. To Lady Rhea.” She brushed her hair from her face, turning to look into their eyes. “Would you still hold us in such high regard?”

“Yes.” They leaned back in their seat. “I would speak in your defense. I would protect you from the church, if it came to that.”

“Would you fight the church? Your sister? Rhea?”

“Yes.”

“Would you kill them?” She narrowed her eyes, deepening her voice. “Would you stand so firm in defense of a student that you destroy the very place that gives you shelter?”

They paused. “I would not kill Byleth, but churches can be rebuilt. My students cannot.”

“Only Byleth?” She frowned.

“She is my sister. Rhea is not.”

Edelgard put a hand to her chin, thoughtful. “I see. Well, let’s hope it never comes to that.”

They nodded. “Hopefully.”

* * *

Byleth sat on the floor of her room, meditating, her mind empty of everything save for a quiet calm. She’d taken up the practice as a means to help herself realign her emotions and become the person she needed - no,  _ wanted _ to be. She’d made some progress already. She couldn’t deny she still hurt, but it was a different sensation now, less all-consuming. Her scars remained, but she need not give in to them.

A knock broke her concentration. She stood. “Come in!” she called.

Ingrid stepped in, bowing. “Professor! I’m so sorry to knock so unexpectedly, but I had nowhere else to turn.” 

“I am quite happy to help!” Byleth smiled warmly. “Would you like some tea to calm your nerves?”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure I have enough time for it to brew, but thank you!” She shook her head. “Listen, I’ll be blunt, I need you to wrangle Dimitri.”

“Wrangle…?” Byleth tilted her head in confusion.

“Sylvain leaving drove a wedge between his highness and Felix. Well, more of a wedge, anyway. I’ve just given up on getting to Felix at this point, and I know you and Sylvain… have issues-”

“He hates me, yes,” she said with a sigh and apologetic smile.

“-yes, that, but I believe you’re the best one to approach his highness and make him see reason. Or at least stop sulking quite so much.” Ingrid sighed. “It’s too much, professor! Those three have been nothing but trouble for, goddess, forever! I’m sorry to push my troubles on you, but I really had nowhere to turn.”

“Like I said, I am happy to help! Allow me to speak with him, and I will see what I can do.”

Much to Byleth’s surprise, Ingrid hugged her. “Thank you so much, professor! I’ll repay you, somehow!”

“I see no need,” Byleth said, smiling at her. “I am simply fulfilling my duty as professor.”

After Ingrid left, Byleth made her way to the chapel, where Dimitri stood, staring blankly at the altar. He didn’t seem to notice as she approached. 

“Dimitri?” she called. 

He turned to face her. Dark circles were forming under his eyes. He stood unsteadily. “Ah, hello Byleth!” he said, his voice as cheerful as ever. “Did you need something?”

“Not as such, but you certainly do.” She smiled. “Come walk with me.”

“Uh, very well, I suppose.” He hesitantly followed. 

Once the two were in the courtyard beside the chapel, she put her hand in his. “Is this wise?” he asked. 

“No,” she replied with a smile. “But I do not care, do you?”

“Ah, I suppose not.” He frowned. “Byleth, may I ask you something?”

“Mm?” She looked up, toward the darkening sky, taking in the beauty of the sunset.

He swallowed. “Sylvain mentioned… you having attended, ah… parties. Noble ones. Is this true?”

She paused a moment. “It is,” she said, frowning.  _ How did he know? _

“Oh.” His voice drained of emotion. “I suppose you have a good reason for attending?”

“No,” she said quietly. “In truth, I was selling my body in something of a foolish attempt to make money and pay my own keep with my father.”

He turned to her. She kept her gaze skyward, even as tears began to form in her eyes. “What possessed you to do something like that?!” She could hear the concern and pain in his voice. “Is it true you were… after my throne? Seeking to marry nobility?”

She laughed. “Dimitri, until I came here, I despised the nobility and wanted nothing more than to never interact with them again.” She didn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I did not sell myself because I enjoyed it or to try and gain some advantage.” He stared at her, saying nothing. She sighed. “I suppose you must think less of me for it.”

“Must I?” He hugged her, pressing her head to his chest. “I don’t think any less of you, but I  _ am _ worried about you. How long ago did you stop?”

“After the  _ ‘party’ _ with Prime Minister Aegir, my brother insisted that I cease. That was…” she paused, considering. “A little over a year before I came here, so about two years.”

He laughed bitterly. “So that must be why you were so insistent on waiting.”

“Not at all. I just wanted my first experience with you to be as memorable as possible to counteract all the rest.” She smiled. “That is all.”

He squeezed her tighter.

“I am still worried about you, Dimitri. Sylvain leaving has pushed you even further from Felix, has it not?”

“I…” He sighed. “Felix and I will never be close again, I fear,” he said, darkly.

“That is one possibility, yes. But it is not the only one. I see no reason the two of you cannot reconcile.”

He let her go, laughing his mirthless laugh again. “You wouldn’t.” He turned away from her.

She made to reply, but a sound from nearby caught her attention. She pulled Dimitri against a wall, around the corner from the sound.

“That one is the progenitor god, are they not?” Seteth was saying. 

“And what of it, Seteth?” Rhea’s voice responded. 

“What is going to happen to them at the ceremony tomorrow, Rhea? I hope you know my devotion is unwavering, but even I have my limits.”

“It will be the culmination of all we have hoped for.”

“These cryptic answers are not enough, Rhea! I want to trust you, but this is concerning. What is going to happen to Caiym?”

“We shall see,” she replied quietly. She and Seteth passed by Byleth and Dimitri. 

Once they were out of earshot, Byleth turned to him. “Dimitri, instruct the Blue Lions to be ready tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” he replied, a hint of darkness in his voice. “I assume you’re just as curious about this  _ revelation _ as I am now?”

“I am concerned for my brother, at least.” She frowned, feeling troubled and uncertain.

* * *

Caiym and their Black Eagles descended into the Holy Tomb, alongside Rhea, atop an odd mechanical contraption Rhea had called an elevator, a lowering platform of stone held aloft by a lowering set of poles beneath it. Hubert was nowhere to be found; Edelgard had explained that he was busy on Empire business and had been all month. It was just as well. Today’s mission would not involve combat anyway, a fact for which Caiym found themself relieved. They weren’t quite sure why, but they’d grown weary of fighting, of even the  _ thought _ of fighting. They wanted nothing more than to carry on their peaceful days with their students as much as they could, to relish the few weeks left with their Black Eagles as much as possible. They weren’t sure at what point the students had come to mean so much to them, but they found their stomach aching at the thought of inevitable departure after next month. They hoped against hope they could at least remain in contact.

The tomb was lit by a strange, grey-green light. Rows upon rows of coffins lined the walls and the center. At the far end, atop a raised platform accessed by a large flight of stairs, sat a large, stone throne. Caiym stared. They’d seen that throne before. It was Sothis’ seat, the one they always saw her in. They could even imagine her yawning, nodding off in it now. Rhea marched along

“Do you recognize this throne?” Rhea asked, a faint trace of hope in her voice.

“I do,” they said quietly.

“At last,” she murmured. “Please, sit upon the throne and receive a revelation from the goddess!”

Caiym moved forward. They climbed slowly. It felt wrong to sit themself atop a throne meant for Sothis, as if it would disrespect her memory. And yet they must. Caiym sat.

“Well? Do you feel anything?” Rhea called. 

Caiym frowned.

“What’s happening? It was supposed to be but a step away.” Rhea’s expression darkened. “What am I missing?”

“Halt,” Edelgard called. She stood a distance behind the other students, near the lift. Dozens of blue lights flickered behind her, then solidified into soldiers and two demonic beasts. Two more lights shone beside her. Hubert appeared with a bow, as well as a man Caiym recognized as Metodey, a lowlife sellsword they’d had the misfortune of working with on a job in Adrestia.

“None of you move!” Metodey called, cackling. “If you dare stand against us, you will die! This tomb and everything within it are now property of the Imperial army!” He cackled again.

Flayn tilted her head in confusion. “Edelgard, can you enlighten us on what is going on?”

“Edie? What’s the Imperial army doing here?” Dorothea stepped back.

Ferdinand frowned. “Does my father know about this?” he muttered.

Constance shifted nervously. “The Imperial army, they said? Surely this can’t be true, can it?”

Bernadetta turned to look Edelgard in the eye. “Edelgard, what’s going on? Please, tell us!”

“It’s quite simple, Bernadetta,” Edelgard said, hefting her axe. “ _ I _ am the Flame Emperor.”

“So it seems our little masquerade has ended, your majesty.” Hubert stood, smirking.

Caspar shook. His lip twitched with rage. “You used us?” he roared. “Just what the hell are you planning? Who the hell are you, really?”

Linhardt put a hand on Caspar’s shoulder. “Perhaps now is not the time for questions. That man said he’d kill us if we stood against them.”

“So what?” Caspar shouted. “I’m not just gonna stand still and  _ let _ them betray us!”

Petra glared at Edelgard. “And how many of the things you said to me had untruths, Edelgard?” She drew her sword and dagger. “Did they all?”

Rhea took a step forward. “Insolence! You will atone for this grave sin with your life! Professor, slaughter these villainous traitors who dare defile the goddess’s resting place!”

Caiym stepped forward, sliding the Sword of the Creator from their belt. They glared. “I’ll not kill my students,” they said, indicating Edelgard and Hubert. “The rest of you will die.”

* * *

Byleth tapped her foot anxiously as the lift lowered them into the Holy Tomb. Dimitri stood beside her, an unreadable expression on his face. Seteth stood a few steps ahead, looking troubled. Sylvain rested his lance easily across his shoulders. Felix looked tense, but little more than usual. Annie and Mercie clung to one another, nervousness apparent for all to see. Dedue looked stoic as ever. Ashe did his best to mimic Dedue’s stoicism, but his trembling hand betrayed his nerves. Hapi had her arm around his shoulder, frowning but otherwise seemingly at ease. Ingrid was simply confused at the tension, but her posture indicated readiness to fight. Yuri and Balthus were their usual selves, albeit quieter. Behind them stood a gathering of knights and church soldiers, all standing at attention.

At once, the sound of battle rang out from below.

“What is going on down there?” Seteth shouted, futilely punching the wall in front of him.

“You tell us,” Dimitri growled. 

“I have no idea why you think me your enemy, Prince Blaiddyd. I assure you, I am not.” Seteth frowned.

“Let’s not turn on each other, yeah?” Yuri said, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

“Yeah, that would be bad,” Sylvain snickered. 

The platform crossed the threshold into the tomb, settling to its resting place, unveiling the chaos below.

Caiym stood, defiant, against a troop of soldiers armored in the telltale red-and-black of the Adrestian Empire, their sword flashing and slicing through men as easily as if through paper. Beside him, Caspar had thrown himself into the fray as well, battering the enemy with flurries of punches. The rest of the students stayed back, staring, with the exception of Hubert, who stood not too far away, observing, and Petra and Edelgard, who were locked in combat, Petra’s clumsy blows connecting with Edelgard’s shield.

“What is the meaning of this?” Seteth called, frozen, unsure what to do.

“Forward!” Byleth called, eager to do  _ something _ . Caiym glanced up at her, nodded, and resumed his fight. “For now, we fight alongside my brother!”

“What is going on, Rhea?” Seteth called again.

“Edelgard is a traitor!” Rhea’s voice seemed to echo in the chamber. “She is the Flame Emperor, and she has betrayed us!”

“The Flame Emperor?” Dimitri turned toward Edelgard. His body was shaking, as if sobbing.

“Dimitri?” Byleth grabbed his shoulder. 

* * *

Dimitri erupted into laughter, his face contorting into a smile. His chance was here! His father’s killer right before him, within reach! It was too perfect, far too perfect. He shrugged Byleth’s hand away. “Is this some kind of twisted  _ joke _ ?” He stepped forward, lance at the ready. “I had my suspicions, but to think you’d confirm them like this…” He laughed again. “I will tear your head from your shoulders and hang it from the gates of Enbarr!”

“Dimitri, wait!” Byleth cried, but he ignored her. 

He charged forward. An Imperial soldier made to stop him, foolishly. He plunged his lance through the man’s head for his trouble. He yanked the man aside, reeled his arm back, and threw, casting his spear at Edelgard. It missed, regrettably, but he pressed on. He grabbed one soldier around the throat, punched, feeling the tingle of his crest activating. He pulled his arm back, knuckles bloodstained, and cast the lifeless body to the ground. 

Only Petra stood between him and his prey. He bared his teeth at her, letting out a short laugh. 

* * *

Caim stood face-to-face with Metodey. “You know, Ashen Demon, I’ve been looking forward to such a conflict,” he said, spinning his venom-edged curved sword deftly. “Your reputation is of such renown that merely mentioning your name is enough to strike fear in even the bravest of souls.” He smiled from ear to ear. “But I do not fear you, Ashen Demon. Her Majesty chose  _ me _ for this undertaking, not you! That places me above you! Do you understand?”

“No one will even remember your name,” Caiym said simply, already bored of this man.

“You will!” he shrieked, charging forward.

Caiym blocked the man’s strike, twirled their sword, and decapitated Metodey without a second thought, turning his attention to the rampaging beasts.

* * *

Byleth stared in horror at the chaos around her. Her brother remained locked in battle with demonic beasts. Dimitri fought unarmed against Petra, matching her sword with titanic strength. Seteth led the soldiers, Blue Lions and two tagalong Wolves against the remaining Imperial soldiers. Sylvain, however, remained behind, beside her, ordered by Seteth to keep her safe and away from the fight.

“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t even tell who’s on what side anymore.”

“I do not even understand what caused this conflict to begin with,” she admitted. “I should be fighting alongside the rest of them. I cannot even fathom why Seteth would insist I remain here.”

“No idea, but it makes this really convenient.” Sylvain kicked her down the stairs before them, sending her tumbling onto the floor of the tomb. She rolled to her feet. He marched down towards her, hefting the Lance of Ruin. 

“What are you doing?!” she cried, throwing her arms into a defensive posture.

“What do you think I’m doing, whore?” He leapt from the bottom step, jabbing forward with his wicked lance. She rolled to the side, returning to her feet. “Stay still so I can kill you!”

Byleth stepped back, channelling magic into her legs. “Sylvain, stop this!”

“And let you continue to use Dimitri? Claw your way into being Queen of Faerghus for  _ goddess _ only knows what reason? No.” He marched forward, his face sinister, his glare hateful.

“What? I am doing none of that!” She raised her arms, crossing them over her face.

“Sure, sure,” he said, laughing. “You can repeat that story in Hell, whore!” 

He charged with unnatural speed, his relic weapon glowing and twitching. He thrust the lance at her, and she grabbed either side of it. She poured magic into her arms and pulled, hoping to knock him off balance, but to no avail. Sylvain kicked her in the stomach, sending her stumbling back, then swept with the lance. She ducked, barely evading the deadly edge. She tumbled forward, again grasping for the lance, hoping to disarm her former student. He yanked it out of the way, stepped back, and pushed her with the lance’s handle. As she regained her footing, he rocketed forward again, jabbing at her chest. Byleth barely managed to roll to the side. Sylvain swung his lance down at her, catching her in the leg. She screamed in pain as the weapon tore through her flesh, leaving a deep gash on her thigh. She struggled to stand, dropped to the ground.

Sylvain towered over her, raising the lance, a gleam of disgust in his eye. “Rot in hell,” he said. 

Byleth screamed, letting loose a stream of fire from her hands. He roared in pain, falling back.

“Sylvain, what in the  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing?” Ingrid yelled, slamming into him with her shoulder. She stood above Byleth, lance ready. “Are you okay, professor?”

Byleth frowned at her wound. “I will be.” She put her hand to it, channelling magic into the healing process, wincing with pain as the flesh reknit itself.

“Good.” Ingrid glared at Sylvain. “Explain yourself. Now.”

“I’m doing what’s right!” he shouted. “Not only am I getting rid of that manipulative bitch, I’m also fighting with Edelgard to abolish the church’s grasp on Fódlan, to destroy the system of crests that’s ruined  _ both _ of our lives! Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t feel obligated to marry to carry on that crest of yours, if you could live out your dream of becoming a knight guilt-free? If people born without crests weren’t seen as lesser, just for that?” He gestured vaguely towards Edelgard. “That’s what she’s fighting for! What  _ we’re _ fighting for!”

“By killing Byleth? By betraying Dimitri? Betraying Felix? Betraying  _ me _ , Sylvain?” Ingrid’s voice was quiet, somber. 

“They’ll see reason eventually, even if we have to beat it into them!” He extended his hand to her. “You don’t have to fight me, Ingrid. Please, come with me! We can make Fódlan a better place, together!”

Byleth stood as the wound closed at last. “Sylvain, please stop this. Whatever you think of me, this is madness!”

Sylvain frowned. “I’m not asking you, whore.”

“My answer is the same as hers,” Ingrid replied. “I won’t betray his highness! Not even for you.”

“So be it.” Sylvain charged forward. Ingrid raised her lance, readying to deflect, but he was gone before he made impact.

* * *

Caiym watched as Edelgard, Hubert, Petra, and Sylvain vanished in a flash of light. They frowned, sheathing their weapon. Edelgard had betrayed them. She was the mysterious Flame Emperor that had menaced Garreg Mach all year. It was a lot for them to take in.

They turned to their students. Linhardt was tending to Caspar’s wounds, magically restoring the damage. Ferdinand stood, troubled. Dorothea sat, pale as a ghost. Bernadetta shivered with fear and anxiety. Constance had her arms folded across her chest, a frown on her face. Flayn knelt in prayer. 

They put their hand comfortingly on Bernadetta’s shoulder. She hugged them, and they hugged her, unsure of what words to say to comfort their students.

Rhea’s words cut through the silence like a knife. “Bind the Black Eagles, all except Flayn. They are to be interrogated.”

Caiym stood, releasing Bernadetta. “What?!”

“Stand aside, professor,” Rhea ordered.

They heard a scream from behind them. A soldier had grabbed Bernadetta’s arms, pulling them behind her back. Caiym’s eyes narrowed. These men were hurting their students. That made them the enemy.

With a singular motion, Caiym charged forward, severing the soldier’s arm, then pushed the man away from Bernadetta with a kick, followed by a vertical slash across the chest. They turned. The other soldiers backed off, hesitant. 

“What are you doing? Bind them! Any one of them could be an enemy!” Rhea screamed. “Especially the professor!”

“Lady Rhea, please, control yourself!” Seteth yelled, rushing to her side. “They are not to be treated as guilty without evidence!”

“That  _ failed experiment _ just murdered one of our soldiers, Seteth,” Rhea growled.

“We can deal with that in time!” he pleaded.

Caiym ignored them. Rhea had given the order. Rhea had commanded the soldiers attack their students. Rhea acted against their students. Acting against Caiym’s students was acting against Caiym. Acting against Caiym made someone Caiym’s enemy. 

Caiym killed their enemies.

They marched forward, dragging the sword behind them, head lowered. Rhea was not far. They extended their sword and slashed upward diagonally. Rhea looked puzzled for a moment as a line of crimson appeared across her chest. They retracted their sword. Rhea fell to the floor, the look of surprise not quite leaving her face. Caiym closed their eyes. Even they knew the price for this betrayal. Seteth, the church, perhaps even Byleth and the students would be against them now. But it didn’t matter. They’d done what was right.

The Ashen Demon opened its eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go until the timeskip! Honestly, think I might just post the last two chapters when they're done then... give up.  
> I've been writing this largely for myself, but even so, I'm losing motivation. I don't feel like anyone cares, like this whole process is just as pointless as my continued existence.  
> I dunno. Probably just my depression talking. We'll see.
> 
> As always, thank you for the support.


	19. Before the Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth attends a meeting discussing the upcoming siege and what to do with her brother. Bernadetta visits her professor in prison. Dimitri lets out his aggression.

#  Chapter Nineteen: Before the Siege

Garreg Mach was almost supernaturally quiet after the conflict in the tomb. Caiym had killed or severely wounded at least half the soldiers Byleth and Seteth had brought with them before, at last, being knocked unconscious by Dimitri. Byleth had done what she could for those injured by Caiym, including Rhea, keeping those alive that she could, with help from Mercedes and Manuela. Rhea remained in the infirmary, gravely injured but stable for the moment. Caiym had been disarmed and placed into a makeshift holding cell in Abyss, guarded by Yuri and Balthus. As if dealing with the aftermath of the tomb wasn’t enough, according to Seteth, they’d had roughly two weeks to prepare for Edelgard’s siege, over a week of which was spent just getting the monastery ready for an attack. They hadn’t even sentenced Caiym yet.

Thus, Byleth meditated.

She couldn’t keep going as she had been. Falling apart at the lightest touch as she was used to would get not only herself but her students killed, especially without her brother to rely upon. However, she knew faking a smile, faking the strength she needed, would tear her apart, as well. She’d found some measure of peace in the practice, and so she’d taken to meditating whenever she wasn’t doing anything else, like now, as she sat in the war room, waiting on Seteth and the others to arrive for their strategy meeting. She took deep breaths, slowly inhaling, holding a moment, slowly exhaling. 

“Am I interrupting, professor?” Seteth called from across the room.

She kept her eyes closed. “No,” she replied, keeping her tone even. “Are the others here as well?”

“Just me, for now.”

She opened her eyes. The war room was dominated by the large circle of tables in the center, surrounded by rows of chairs. She sat at the head of the configuration, legs crossed on her chair, facing Seteth, who moved next to her and sat. 

“This is quite the mess, isn’t it?” he said, managing a short, exasperated chuckle.

“So it is,” she agreed. “How many more departed today?”

“Almost thirty. Mostly soldiers, but Ferdinand, Lorenz, and Hanneman were among them.” Seteth shook his head. “I have my doubts they are returning home to evade conflict.”

Byleth nodded, then sighed deeply. “The departure of Hanneman is particularly surprising.”

“Not if you’ve ever spoken with him. Evidently he agreed with the propaganda in Edelgard’s manifesto.” Seteth rolled his eyes. 

“Excuse me!” Catherine called. She walked alongside Shamir, still smiling casually, although a bit more forced than her norm. “Oh, we’re not late. That’s good!” She dropped down into a seat. Shamir nodded, then sat beside her.

Within short order, Gilbert, Manuela, and Yuri all made their way into the meeting room, taking their seats.

Once the remaining faculty were seated, Seteth stood. “I’ll cut to the chase. We’re but three days away from Edelgard’s planned attack on the monastery. We have the supplies for a prolonged siege, but…” he pursed his lips. “We lack the men or the structure for such a siege. Trebuchets and catapults will tear down our walls far more easily than I’d like, and if the rumors of her using Demonic Beasts are true, we are equally ill-equipped to deal with those. Thus, I would like to turn instead towards evacuation.”

“I assume that’s why you’ve brought me here, yeah?” Yuri interrupted, leaning back in his chair, his feet on the table. 

“That would be correct. I’d like to utilize Abyss if at all possible, giving the students and non-combat staff as little of a barrier to escape as we can afford.”

“So your plan is to just abandon the monastery?” Catherine shouted, rising to her feet.

“I assure you, this is a plan of last resort, else we would have begun preparations for it beforehand.” Seteth leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “The amount of support she’s gotten from Adrestia has been quite overwhelming. I anticipated a schism in the empire, not this unity.”

Shamir raised an eyebrow. “So we run? Leaving the monastery seems foolish.”

“I agree!” Catherine slammed her hand on the table, jumping Byleth. “We’ve got the most defensible damn structure in all of Fódlan this side of the Silver Maiden! Why evacuate?”

“Quite simply put, we do not have the manpower to survive a siege. Even if Edelgard brings but a fraction of Adrestia’s army down upon us, it would be more than enough to overwhelm our defenses.” Seteth stood, resolute, a determination in his eyes. “We need not put non-combatant personnel at risk. I’ll not stand by as innocent lives are lost on my behalf.”

“So then evacuate noncombatants first,” Yuri said, raising an eyebrow. “Let my rogues guide them into Abyss. We stay nearby the monastery until combatants start evacuating. That way, you get to defend Garreg Mach and no one’s life is put at risk. Seems good to me, yeah?”

Catherine eyed Yuri suspiciously. “You expect us to trust criminal trash living in Abyss with the lives of noncombatants?”

“Not really,” Yuri replied with a shrug, “but I can assure you I’m not suicidal enough to turn on the church, nor do I have much of a reason to. That good enough for you, friend?”

Catherine frowned. Before she could reply, Byleth interrupted, “What of the Kingdom and the Alliance? Surely, they can send us some reinforcements to turn aside the Empire?”

“The Alliance is split down the middle with regards to supporting Edelgard, and, as luck would have it, the half closest to us is the one that falls most in line with her. As for Faerghus…” Seteth smiled grimly. “At present, the Knights of Seiros are what passes for the Faerghus army. There are a handful of soldiers remaining in Kingdom territories, but they’re necessary for fighting off bandit incursions and the like.”

“I see. So reinforcements are unlikely?” Byleth put her hand to her chin.

“Unfortunately,” Seteth said with a nod.

“Then I think it may be wise to follow Yuri’s suggestion.” Byleth leaned forward. “We prepare for evacuation, but we do not immediately abandon the monastery. Fleeing outright would only place us at risk to be cornered and cut down by the Imperial army. Furthermore, putting up resistance will weaken Edelgard’s army even if only slightly, and we have a chance to remove at least some leadership.”

Catherin scoffed. “I agree to a point, though I’m still against even the thought of evacuation.”

“Same,” Shamir added.

“That’s why we just  _ prepare _ for evacuation,” Yuri said with a sly grin. “If we don’t have to, we don’t have to. Honestly, that’s the outcome I’d prefer anyway. I got people depending on me in Abyss, and I’d rather not leave them to fate.”

“It seems sound to me,” Manuela chimed in. “Abyss is probably the safest place for our noncombatants, and I can vouch for Yuri’s sincerity.”

“I agree,” Gilbert added.

“That’s settled then,” Seteth said finally. “I understand your concerns, Catherine and Shamir, but I cannot risk losing lives unnecessarily.” Catherine grumbled something unintelligible. “The next matter at hand. What is to be done with Caiym Eisner?”

Byleth’s heart sank.

“They attacked Lady Rhea with intent to kill her. They killed good soldiers.” Catherine averted her eyes from Byleth. “I hate to say it, but…”

“Execution seems prudent,” Shamir finished.

Yuri dropped his legs from the table, falling forward in his seat. “Or you could release Caiym into my custody. There’s precedent with myself and Hapi. They’re a hell of a soldier, and simply killing the apparent reincarnation of Nemesis himself seems like such a waste. And, all that aside…” Yuri turned to look Byleth directly in the eye. “Caiym’s my friend.”

“But would Caiym work alongside us, after everything?” Gilbert mused. “He’s proven himself dangerous, unpredictable. He should be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.”

“Agreed,” Shamir added.

“Wait!” Byleth cried. “Caiym is not unpredictable if you know them well enough! Their actions have a sort of consistency to them!”

“Do tell,” Yuri said, raising an eyebrow.

“My brother’s morality is centered entirely on the following tenet: It is good to protect those that my brother likes; it is bad to act against those that my brother likes. They saw Lady Rhea’s order to bind the remaining Black Eagles as being an action against their students, so they retaliated. I have been visiting them off and on, and I am certain, given enough time, I could-”

“You could what? Talk Caiym into fighting for us? Let them get out of this without consequence?” Catherine glared at her. “I’m sorry, really I am, but they can’t just attack Lady Rhea and be allowed to get away with it!”

“We can’t let sentiment get in the way of what must be done,” Shamir said. “If they’re not an asset, they’re an enemy.”

“That’s too black-and-white!” Byleth stood, looking pleadingly at Seteth. “Please, don’t make me lose my brother so soon after my father!”

Seteth looked at her apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, Byleth,” Manuela began, gently, “but we can’t go easy on Caiym just because of that. It’s no different than Jeritza’s betrayal. Our options are limited at the moment.”

“So you are to execute my brother for one mistake?!” Byleth felt tears welling in her eyes.

“Byleth, I understand your concerns,” Seteth said, “but that ‘one mistake’ was the highest act of heresy the church has ever known. We cannot appear weak in this time of turmoil.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry.”

Byleth sat back down. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. 

“You won’t reconsider?” Yuri chimed in. “Or at least hold off the execution until after the siege?”

“I’m afraid not.” Seteth’s tone was resolute. Final.

Byleth closed her eyes. She inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. “At least allow me to visit my brother one final time.”

“I can allow this,” Seteth said with a nod.

“Very well.” She stood. “Yuri, take me to Caiym please.”

* * *

Bernadetta crept down the winding passageways in Abyss, the way illuminated by her shakily-held candle. She followed Yuri’s directions to the letter, or so she thought; she was still a little afraid of him, so some of what he said might’ve gotten lost behind her anxiety. Soon enough, however, her light shone on her professor’s sword, hung up on the wall. Across from it, Professor Caiym sat, one arm resting on their knee, expressionlessly staring out into nothing, behind a barred door. Despite the grim situation, Bernadetta’s heart skipped a beat upon seeing them. Professor Caiym looked up and met her eyes.

“Um, h-hi, professor,” she stammered. “Are you okay?”

Professor Caiym turned away, saying nothing.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” She laughed nervously. “I thought you might be lonely. And hungry. And I know how you like sweets so…” she dug into her bag and produced a small box, opening it to reveal a cupcake, which she put through the bars. Professor Caiym took it and devoured it in only a couple bites. She laughed again. “I’ve um, I’ve missed you, professor. It’s so lonely without you. Everyone’s so busy dealing with the siege…”

Footsteps down the hall frightened her. She stood motionless, paralyzed, glancing nervously for somewhere to hide. The most she could do was crouch down.

“You’re sure about this?” Yuri’s voice echoed down the hallway, his silhouette illuminated alongside Byleth’s.

“Completely.”

“If we’re caught, they’ll kill us, you know,” he said, laughing.

“They will not.” Byleth sounded mad. Maybe a little scared?

The two rounded the corner, stopping when they saw her. Yuri raised an eyebrow. Byleth waved. “Hello, Bernadetta. Thank you for visiting my brother,” she said softly. 

Bernadetta stood. “Um, you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at all!” Byleth smiled.

“This  _ does _ complicate things, friend.” Yuri glanced between Bernadetta and Professor Caiym. “I sort of expected her to have come and gone by now.”

“Not at all,” Byleth repeated. “Bernadetta. I will not sugar coat this. Seteth and the others would like to execute my brother.”

Bernadetta’s eyes widened. “Th-they can’t! Professor Caiym didn’t  _ really _ do anything wrong! Lady Rhea’s alive, right? So it’s fine!”

“I think so too,” Byleth said, sighing. “But the church disagrees. And I would rather not see my brother executed.”

“So… what’re you going to do?” Bernadetta looked back and forth between the two of them.

Byleth nodded at Yuri, who handed Bernadetta a key. “ _ We’re _ not doing anything, but you’re welcome to.” Yuri winked.

“Where you two go is up to you,” Byleth said, quietly. “I just… I cannot lose my brother. Not now.”

“Okay,” Bernadetta said, nodding.

“Brother?” Byleth peered between the bars of the cell. Professor Caiym didn’t move. “I doubt I will ever truly understand why you did what you did, will I?” Again, they said nothing. Byleth sighed. “Please, be well, brother. I love you.”

She waited a moment longer for Professor Caiym’s reply before turning and walking away, Yuri in tow, leaving Bernadetta with the key to Professor Caiym’s cell.

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

_ Content warning: Dubious consent _

Byleth sat in her room, meditating yet again, uncertain if letting her brother and Bernadetta go was wise. For the moment, it didn’t matter. The gentle rainfall outside her room helped soothe her troubled mind.

Byleth’s door swung open. She opened her eyes, facing Dimitri. His head was lowered, rain soaking through his uniform. She stood, but before she could say anything, he embraced her, kissing her, clutching at her dress, tearing it down, pulling it off of her. She let out a small squeak of surprise. He turned them both, pushing her onto her bed, keeping his lips locked to hers, his hand grasping her breast, squeezing alternately lightly and somewhat forcefully. He slipped his other hand between her legs, underneath her panties. She gasped, reaching her hand up to his shoulder, then to his chest, unbuttoning his outer shirt, then inner, feeling his chest with her hand. He ran his fingers along her slit far more roughly than he usually did. He broke away from the kiss, biting her lower lip, not quite hard enough to break the skin. Her eyes widened. “D-Dimitri?” she murmured.

Heedless, he lowered his uniform trousers. He thrust into her immediately, without waiting. His movements were bestial, frenzied. His hands grabbed for her wrists, pulling her arms above her head. He put both of her wrists in one hand, then moved the other down to her mouth, pushing his fingers between her lips. He buried his face between her neck and shoulder, kissing, tonguing, biting at her. she tried to speak, but his fingers stopped her. He increased his pace, thrusting faster and faster into her. 

All at once, he stopped. He pulled out of her, rolling her onto her stomach, forcefully, then before she could react, thrust himself into her again. 

“D-Dimitri, what…” she began.

He put his fingers in her mouth again, gripping her right shoulder with his other hand. He pushed her down further onto her bed, leaning over her, kissing and gently biting her left shoulder. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her stomach, then lower, slipping between her legs. She moaned through her lover’s fingers, her knees shaking. She moved her hand to grab his. She buried her face in her mattress, letting out a muffled cry of pleasure as she orgasmed. Moments later, she felt him release into her. He fell on top of her, and both lay there, panting, for a moment.

At last, he rolled over, no longer laying on her, and she turned to face him. He was facing away from her.

“Dimitri, what was that? I-I am not complaining, I guess,” she said, blushing, “but that was a fair amount rougher than I anticipated.”

“Sorry,” he growled, insincerely.

“Dimitri? Please, talk to me,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I am worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” He turned, sitting up. She followed. His face was twisted into a cruel smile. “Soon enough I’ll take that  _ vile _ woman’s head.” He laughed. “Then your worries will be for nothing.”

“That only makes me more worried!” She tried to hug him. He shoved her away, and she fell from her bed onto the floor, knocking against her tea table, which fell atop her, spilling its contents everywhere. She looked up at Dimitri, who glanced down, expressionless.

“Is this not what you expected, professor? Or did you not listen to Felix?” He turned and left, slamming Byleth’s door behind him.

She could only sit there, reaching her hand out to him, pleading silently for the man she loved to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter for now. The siege chapter is 45 pages rn, and I'm working on cutting that down so it's less of a monster x.x  
> I'm somewhat tempted to move part 2 to its own fic, but if anyone's opposed to that idea, please let me know! I understand if it's easier to just follow this one! ^^'
> 
> As always, thank you for the support!


	20. Broken Words, Broken Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Adrestian Army arrives at Garreg Mach.

#  Chapter Twenty: Broken Words, Broken Walls

Hubert stood, hands folded behind his back, staring out from his tent on the hill overlooking Lady Edelgard’s army, illuminated only by the dim early morning light, a forewarning of the fiery winter sun to come as the last remnants of night scurried away from the breaking dawn. Soldiers roused from their slumber, armoring, feasting, drinking, all with the same grim expression on their faces, making a stark contrast to Hubert’s smile.

He heard the approach of armored footsteps from behind him. He tensed reflexively. One set of heavy steps, one far lighter. The clanking of armor and metallic rustle of chainmail indicated a heavily armored soldier, astride a cloaked or perhaps robed figure. He relaxed, and kept his gaze forward. “I trust you slept well, Lady Edelgard?” He didn’t bother greeting the Death Knight.

“I did not,” she said, with only a twinge of regret staining her lovely voice. “I don’t exactly relish the coming battle. Even if victory is all-but assured, I still…” She sighed. “I still regret sending these men and women to their deaths. It’s for a noble cause, and yet…”

Hubert frowned. “You needn’t worry. If the very notion strikes you as abhorrent, you may remain behind and-”

“No,” she interrupted. “I won’t let you shelter me from the reality of what I must do any longer.” He didn’t have to look at her to know that her eyes were ablaze with determination.

“Of course, Lady Edelgard.” He turned to her and bowed.

“How many do we have?” she asked, looking down at their army.

“Ten thousand, thereabouts, excluding the sellswords we’ve placed near monastery grounds. Altogether, closer to twelve thousand.” He moved beside her, taking care to stand just a little bit behind. “A number that will nearly triple once your  _ uncle _ arrives with his forces.” His smile returned. “All in all, more than double the enemy numbers.”

“Lest you forget, this  _ is _ a siege,” Edelgard reminded him. “We may have numbers, but they have the monastery walls. Not to mention, my teacher is-”

“-Not accounted for, as it happens,” Hubert interjected. “Bernadetta and the Demon vanished from Garreg Mach some time ago.”

Edelgard sighed as if releasing a breath she’d been holding. Hubert saw her shoulders lower. “One less familiar face,” she whispered. Louder, she added, “What of House Gloucester? Have they heard our plea for alliance?”

“They have heard and accepted.” Hubert’s grin widened. “All it took was the right leverage, and the heir to Gloucester being among our camp made for a delightful missive to the count, I’m sure.” He chuckled.

“You did take care to inform Count Gloucester that Lorenz is here willingly, yes?”

“That little detail must have slipped my mind.”

“Hubert,” she warned. “You cannot keep doing this.”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard,” he said with feigned sincerity.

“When do we march?” the Death Knight growled. “I tire of your endless chatter.”

“Take care not to bite your own leash, dog,” Hubert said. “It’s all that tethers you to life.”

Edelgard sighed loudly. “That is quite enough from both of you. Hubert, prepare the troops. We march now.”

“By your command, your majesty.”

* * *

Bernadetta sat across from her sleeping professor in their makeshift camp. They’d taken refuge in one of the broken buildings near the sealed forest, for lack of a better place to go. Caiym still hadn’t said a word to her in the three days they’d been away from the monastery. That was okay, though. She was just glad to be with them.

They stirred, and their sudden quick breath startled her, but only somewhat. They sat up all at once, as if springing into action. They studied her, briefly, before nodding.

“U-Um, good morning, professor!” she squeaked. “Do you want, um, breakfast?” They nodded once. “O-Okay!” She dug into her pack, pulling out a bag of jerky, offering some to Caiym, who took it and studied it with an unreadable expression. “I know it’s not your favorite, but it’s all we have!” They said nothing. “I’m sorry!” she squealed. Caiym reached out a hand. She winced. They gently patted her head. She flushed and looked away.

Caiym took an apprehensive bite of the jerky. Their expression soured into a grimace, but they pressed on, taking small bites and wincing at each one. Bernadetta couldn’t help but stare. For as gentle as they’d always been with her, Caiym had never looked so vulnerable. The once-stony mask had eroded, revealing a sad, lonely child within. Or something.

“I miss hearing your voice,” she said quietly. “I know you can hear me and understand me, but I miss talking to you. I wish you’d say something.”

Caiym stared at her. They frowned, then patted her head again.

In the distance, Bernadetta heard a rumbling. Caiym seemed to hear it too. They stood, picking up their sword, and marched toward it. “What is it, professor?” Bernadetta asked, trotting behind them, hastily grabbing her bow. “It sounds like it’s coming from the monastery!”

* * *

As she fastened the straps on her metal bracer, Byleth dimly felt herself shaking. She’d done her best to dissociate before the oncoming battle, to become the leader she had to be. The church was in disarray. Her brother was missing, off with Bernadetta somewhere hopefully safe. Rhea was still too weak to stand after the incident in the tomb. That left things to Seteth, and by extension, to her; Manuela had long-since checked out, offering only to maintain her infirmary and nothing more, Alois never had much of a head for tactics, and Gilbert merely agreed with any strategy put before him. Byleth fastened the other bracer. Their forces were minimal in comparison to the tide of soldiers awaiting just outside the monastery grounds. Against her advice, Seteth had offered the students a chance to volunteer and bolster their ranks. Far too many had taken the chance. In fact, of the students directly under Byleth, only Hilda had even tried to refuse, right up until Marianne stepped forward herself. Byleth wanted to cry. She inhaled deeply, and with her sighing exhale purged the excess emotions from within. With her mind clear, she resumed gearing up, putting on a silver chain shirt, covered with a black shirt and coat, hoping to evoke her brother’s appearance. If Caiym couldn’t be here, perhaps she could be the next best thing. At last, she fastened her armored boots. She frowned at the glasses in her hand. She  _ did _ need them to see, but they detracted somewhat from her intended appearance. She set them on her end table. If she survived, perhaps, she would retrieve them.

Byleth marched to the monastery gates. The sun had scarcely begun to rise, casting a pale light over the soldiers before them, revealing only the shapeless mass of the enemy army marching ever onward, toward Garreg Mach’s destruction. Seteth stood, grimly surveying the approaching army. A contingent of knights stood beside him, the rest of their forces splayed out at the gates, some taking up ambush positions behind the walls and in the growth around Garreg Mach. Byleth’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Rhea, standing tall near Seteth. Rhea smiled warmly at her as she approached.

“Lady Rhea…” Byleth began, before Rhea interrupted with a wave of her hand.

“Worry not, child. I’ve no intention of taking to the fields myself.” Rhea winced, almost imperceptibly.

“Lady Rhea’s presence is intended to bolster morale,” Seteth explained. “I had my doubts about your compliance with the idea.”

“It is hardly my place to refuse,” Byleth said, frowning, “but I of course must advise against remaining on the battlefield for too long. You are, after all, Edelgard’s primary target.” The words came easily to her, she noted. It was as if she was watching somebody else take her place. “Where have we stationed our students?”

“They are largely bolstering the forces behind the gates.” Seteth gestured, indicating a few locations. “A handful of them insisted on being in the front lines.”

“Dimitri and Felix are among them, I presume?”  _ Dimitri. _ Her lover’s name fell from her lips as easily as Felix’s, as though her months with him hadn’t happened at all. 

“Yes, as well as Caspar, Leonie, Dedue, and Ingrid.” Seteth shook his head. “I advised them against this course of action, but…”

Rhea waved her hand dismissively. “They are aware of the risks, Seteth. We cannot begrudge them their loyalty.”

“What about the evacuation?” Byleth moved forward, leaning against the battlement, squinting in a vain attempt to see anything of the enemy forces.

“Proceeding as planned. The clergy are within Abyss as we speak, guided by most of the Ashen Wolves, excluding Balthus. The merchants have fled already.” Seteth folded his arms behind his back. His wyvern descended to the ground, landing beside him, lowering itself to let him on. As he climbed into the saddle, he muttered, “Please, Goddess, let this madness be short-lived.” 

Byleth said nothing. 

* * *

Yuri leaned against the wall of Abyss, twirling a gold coin in his fingers, tapping his foot against the ground. Across from him, Hapi sat, glancing around every so often, as if looking for someone, her face downcast. Constance fidgeted beside him, her eyes away from her two friends. No one said a word. The hushed chatter of the evacuees-to-be from nearby, audible but unintelligible, kept the silence from being  _ too  _ oppressive. Yuri stared ahead, eyes occasionally flicking down to the coin to ensure it stayed on the correct path and didn’t drop. It wasn’t that he wanted to be in the battle, far from it, but his stomach was twisted in knots. He couldn’t stop imagining his Ladybird’s face, eyes empty, stained with blood…

He shook his head. Far be it from him to be a downer. 

“Aaagh, this is aggravating!” Hapi grumbled. Constance jumped, her eyes darting to Hapi. “Someone, say something! This silence is killing me.”

“We’re all anxious, Hapi,” Yuri said, spinning the coin one final time and catching it in his palm. “At least we’re safe down here.”

“What about Freckles? And Songbird? Blue? Sunshine? Didi? B?” Hapi stood up, glaring directly into Yuri’s eyes. “They’re not  _ safe _ , Yuri-bird.”

Yuri pressed his lips together. “No,” he conceded. “I’m anxious too, yeah? Just trying to keep it together.” He gestured towards the chamber they’d kept the evacuees in. “For their sake.”

Hapi glared a moment longer, then stepped down. “You’re right. Sorry.” She swallowed hard, fighting off a sigh.

A loud noise overhead, followed by a rumble, shook loose some dust and cobwebs.

“Seems like the battle’s in full swing,” Yuri mumbled. Another loud rumbling noise, this time accompanied by rubble. Yuri dodged, tumbling easily to his feet. “Hapi, Constance, get these people out of here. I’m gonna go topside. They need someone capable of dealing with these siege engines.”

Hapi made to protest, but another impact cut her off. She nodded, and ran towards the evacuees as Yuri bolted to the ladder out of Abyss.

* * *

Hubert stood, arms folded behind him, staring at the beautiful chaos before him. The Empire’s soldiers had crashed over the Knights of Seiros like a wave, making up for their inferior skill with overwhelming numbers. The Death Knight, Her Majesty, and a handful of their more elite troops were making their way through the chaos towards a less-defended section of the monastery, utilizing the chaos as cover for their quiet assault, a task made significantly easier by the roar and rumble of the onagers, firing in an alternating pattern such that their impacts came seemingly endlessly.

“I fail to see what the plan is, exactly,” Sylvain said, a half-frown on his lips, looking down on the battle from atop his black destrier. “What, we just overwhelm them?” His new, black armor had yet to finish commission, and Hubert found himself struggling not to laugh at the out of place spiked shoulder and gauntlets. 

“Hardly,” Hubert replied. “Just stay here and wait for the signal.”

“About that.” Sylvain glanced over at Hubert. “You said I’d ‘know it when it comes,’ but that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“You’ll know,” Hubert said cryptically. He kept his eyes forward, surveying the enemy movements.

* * *

Garreg Mach was collapsing around Ingrid. Projectile after projectile crashed into the walls and monastery grounds. Before it, the Knights of Seiros clashed with the Adrestian Army. Byleth stood above the chaos, lobbing the occasional bolt of energy into the fray from her arcane counter-siege engine. Seteth dove into the mayhem here and there, his deadly lance picking off enemy soldiers with frightening precision. Dimitri fought like a storm, sweeping his lance in wide arcs, slaughtering enemy soldiers with abandon. Claude stood not far away, picking off enemy archers with well-placed shots, guiding Ignatz and Ashe to do the same. Ingrid circled overhead on her pegasus, keeping her eyes peeled for Felix, who she’d lost earlier to the overwhelming tide of war. She dodged arrow after arrow, maneuvering with precision, though she’d yet to take any dives like Seteth. In the distance, she thought she saw the crimson of Sylvain’s hair. Maybe she could convince him to come home. She pressed her pegasus onward, circling above, half-paralyzed. She’d been in real fights before, alongside Byleth and the other students, but nothing like this. 

A loud roar pulled her from her concentration. She turned, looking down to see the all-too-familiar horned helmet and black armor of the Death Knight, scythe in hand, marching towards Dimitri. She opened her mouth to call out as she turned her pegasus towards the battle.   
“Your highness!” Dedue’s voice rose above the fighting. He planted himself between the charging knight and his liege, hefting his mighty shield and his axe. The knight remained on course. Dedue braced himself and, with all his strength, pushed the shield into the horse’s chest, toppling the Death Knight to the ground. In the same motion, Dedue brought the axe down on the poor horse’s neck, then returned to a defensive posture. Ingrid spurred her mount forward, then leapt from its back mid-descent, lance forward. The knight had enough time to parry the lance away from a lethal strike before Ingrid’s reckless maneuver sent both tumbling clumsily away. She rose to her feet first, helped by Dedue, who nodded at her. She frowned, but said nothing, not eager to turn away help. The two stood together as the knight pushed himself to his feet. 

“That will be quite enough,” called an imperious voice from behind them. Ingrid didn’t even need to turn to see Edelgard, though she spun anyway, standing back-to-back with Dedue. “Death Knight, assist me in eliminating these two.” Edelgard hefted a wicked-looking axe, her gaze as blank and unyielding as stone.

“ **_EDELGARD!_ ** ” Dimitri’s bellow seemed to echo throughout the monastery grounds. “I’ve finally found you!” He tossed the soldiers he’d stood against aside like they were nothing, launching himself forward with a leap.

There was a ring of steel against bone. Caiym stood between Edelgard and Dimitri, the Sword of the Creator holding Dimitri’s lance at bay. He shoved forward, and Dimitri fell back, though not for long, as within seconds he made another lunge for Edelgard, again deflected by Caiym. 

Edelgard stared, evidently dumbfounded, before blinking a few times. “I thank you, my teacher. I knew you would see reason.” She hefted her axe again, stalking slowly towards Ingrid and Dedue. Behind her, Ingrid could hear the metallic march of the Death Knight. She twirled her lance in front of her, reading to dodge or parry Edelgard’s attack. She could hear the frustrated roars of His Highness somewhere to her side, but couldn’t afford to turn and look that way. Edelgard lunged forward with surprising speed, positioning the axe high, going for a downward chop. Ingrid used her lance to push the blade aside, rolling away and to her feet, glancing momentarily at Dedue, who stood his ground against the Death Knight. She turned back to Edelgard just in time to notice her mighty swing, from which Ingrid could only barely step away, suffering a chip in her armor. Ingrid seized the momentary recovery to leap at Edelgard, spearpoint forward, striking at her chest, only for the lance to deflect off Edelgard’s armor beneath her robe. For her trouble, she received a gauntleted punch to the face from her adversary, sending her backward. She stood, shakily, blood pouring from her nose. Edelgard readied her weapon again and charged.

Dedue rammed into Edelgard, shield first, knocking her off balance. He followed up with a swing from his axe, although the clumsy blow could do little more than glance off her armor and destabilize her further. The Death Knight, a wicked grin just visible beneath the shattered remains of his lower helmet, raised his scythe, striking downward at Dedue, raking the blade along the dark-skinned man’s back. Dedue grunted in pain, but stood his ground, pushing Edelgard away and off-balance with another shield bash.

Ingrid took a step forward, but stopped as a bolt of white lightning crashed in front of her. Sylvain, atop a great black stallion, held aloft the Lance of Ruin. His face was unreadable, his eyes sorrowful yet determined, framed by that handsome red hair of his. Even looking glum as he was, that telltale mischievous twinkle still shone brightly in his eyes. Spots of his armor had been replaced by black plate, a conversion to the Adrestian army’s colors. A crimson half-cape hung from his shoulders. His horse reared back, likely as surprised by the sudden motion as Ingrid was. He looked regal, majestic, every inch the noble he had always been but never wanted to be. The man she’d never admitted to loving. Now her enemy.

Sylvain’s horse landed, and he turned to face her. Her vision tunneled. “Sylvain!” she called. “We don’t have to fight! Please, come back to us!”

He said nothing for what felt like an eternity. His expression hardened into a steely glare. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m doing what’s right.”

“Then I’ll drag you back myself!” She whistled, calling her pegasus. She ducked under a charge from Sylvain, then grabbed Lúin, her family’s relic, from her pegasus’ saddle. She leapt to the side as Sylvain charged again, though this time, he jabbed his lance into the pegasus’ side. The poor creature let out a whinny before falling to the ground, uselessly flapping its wings and beating its hooves until at last it lay still.

* * *

War was all Felix had known, ever since he was a kid. He’d trained for it, been shaped and molded by it. It’d just been a looming threat for so long, now that he found himself in it, he had no idea what to do with himself. He was an expert duelist, certainly, but wasn’t much of a soldier. Locking blades with one enemy at a time was tiresome, not to mention troublesome. 

And yet he persevered.

He wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t believe in anything in particular. Perhaps he fought for survival, as Caiym had. Perhaps it was for Annette, for the thought of seeing her safe and happy even after all this insanity. 

He turned aside, slashing upward with his sword, cutting his adversary across the chest. The man fell, limp, bleeding. He had no time to celebrate. Another swing. Another dead Adrestian. There was no end to them. The knights around him stood tall, shields at the ready blocking and trading blows. Slow. Inefficient. Felix’s way was better. Another swing. Another dead.

A loud, high whinny caught his attention. He glanced in its direction. His eyes widened. Ingrid stood, alone, facing down Edelgard, the Death Knight and…

Sylvain. 

Felix felt his chest tighten, though he fought off the tears with practiced ease. Ingrid’s pegasus was dead. Sylvain was circling around, readying to charge her. Felix had to stop him. He’d seen the boar go down this dark path, he’d be damned if he let it consume Sylvain. Felix had loved him, once, in what felt like another life. It’d been easy enough to let that go, Felix had never acted on it after all, but even so, he couldn’t deny what he’d once felt. 

And then there was Ingrid. Frustrating. Infuriating, more accurately. But only because she insisted on throwing her life away. He wouldn’t let her, damn it!

Before he could stop himself, Felix broke rank, running to try and salvage what was left of his friends.

* * *

Ingrid braced Lúin for Sylvain’s oncoming charge, hoping to catch his horse and not him. He spurred his mount onward, then, at the last second, as Ingrid moved to strike, turned aside, chopping horizontally with the Lance of Ruin. Ingrid parried, clumsily, taking a half-step backwards. Sylvain circled his horse around, charging her again. She readied herself quickly, but not well enough. Sylvain again turned, this time swinging his lance downward at her. She raised Lúin to block, catching Sylvain’s blow with the shaft of her lance. Suddenly, with a surge of supernatural strength, Sylvain pushed downward, knocking Ingrid to the ground. He dismounted his horse, kicking Lúin away from her and pointing the tip of his lance at her throat.

She glanced around. Dimitri was engaged with Caiym, unable to break away. Dedue threw his shield between Edelgard and the Death Knight, losing ground quickly. No one else was nearby.

“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Sylvain said, his emotionless mask cracking as he looked down at her. “Join us. Lady Edelgard seeks to destroy this tyrannical system of crests and church oppression. Don’t you want to be free to choose your life’s path for yourself, and not just marry for political or financial gain?”

“I  _ have _ chosen my path, Sylvain. I’ll die for my king, like any good knight.” Ingrid closed her eyes. “Like Glenn.”  _ I’ll see you soon, _ she added silently.

“Then die like Glenn.”

Ingrid didn’t see the lance pierce her chest. She held her eyes shut, trying to quell her fear. She thought she saw Glenn’s hand reaching out to her, but her own arm was too heavy to move. She was crying. Why was she crying?  _ Death isn’t sad, not really…  _

* * *

Felix could only watch as Sylvain tore his lance from Ingrid’s chest. He raised his hand to reach out for her, but too late.

Sylvain turned to him. “I guess this saves me the trouble of looking for you.”

Felix could only stare, wide-eyed. “What have you done? Sylvain, what the hell have you done?”

“I did what I had to do.” He levelled his lance. “Same as you are now.”

“ _ ‘What you had to do’ _ ? She was your friend! She loved you!” Felix’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Sylvain shook his head. “She was always on my case about everything. She never loved me.”

“You idiot!” Felix cried. “She was worried about you, damn it! She wanted you to be better than this!”

Sylvain scoffed. “Yeah, right.” He stalked forward. 

Felix let out a growl and charged his former friend, heedless of anything else.

* * *

Hapi stood, catching her breath, leaning against the wall beside her. Coco stood beside her, just as winded. “How much further until we’re out?” Hapi said, between gasps for air. “I don’t think I can run any more.”

“No, me either,” Coco admitted. “Just a little further now.”

The pair rounded the corner, and Hapi found herself face-to-face with Eddy’s girlfriend, Petra, who she’d often struggled to nickname, back in the better times before all this. Behind Petra stood about a dozen soldiers, heavily armored and armed with spears. “Coco, what-” Hapi began, turning toward Constance, who had an apologetic expression on her face as a cold mist swirled in her outstretched hand. 

“I’m sorry, Hapi,” she said. “Surely you can see Edelgard’s point as well?”

Hapi frowned. “Sure, Eddy’s got a point, but I’m not exactly thrilled to fight a war for her. And besides, Freckles wanted to stick with Didi and Blue.”

“You cannot be so lovestruck as to abandon your ideals for a lover?” Constance balked.

“No, I didn’t say that.” Hapi fought off a sigh. “I’m just not as interested in crests and fighting corruption or whatever as Eddy says she is.”

“I see. So you have no intention of standing with Edelgard on the correct side of history?”

“Kill me if you’re gonna, Coco,” she said quietly. “I’m not exactly in a position to fight back.”

Constance hesitated. 

* * *

Byleth stared in horror at the pandemonium before her. Demonic beasts ravaged their way through the Knights of Seiros, flanked by Adrestian cavalry under Ferdinand’s command. She watched as her brother and her lover locked blades in the fields below. She glanced in despair at the body of Ingrid, and the duel between Sylvain and Felix nearby. She stepped forward, uncertain of what she was going to do, but certain she had to do something. She leapt down the monastery stairs, flinging a small fireball into the enemy line. She raced towards Dimitri, whether out of desperation to protect him or to stop her brother, she wasn’t sure. She reached the two of them as their battle encroached on a cliffside, near the deep ravine beside Garreg Mach.

She skidded to a halt a few feet away from the heated battle. “Stop!” she called. Neither turned to look at her. She cast a fireball between them, forcing them to look up. “Brother! Dimitri! Stop this!”

“This  _ traitor _ stands between me and that vile woman!” Dimitri roared. “I’ll not rest until all obstacles are out of my way!”

Caiym remained silent. They levelled their sword at Byleth with a cold glare, studying her.

Dimitri rushed forward, capitalizing on Caiym’s distracted state. Caiym stepped aside, parrying Dimitri’s lance with a flick of their wrist. Byleth let out a roar of frustration and cut a line of fire between the two. Caiym, seemingly ignorant of the consequences, charged through, bringing their sword down on Dimitri with incredible fury, though to no avail: the resounding ring of blade-on-blade echoed, signaling a parry. Dimitri reeled back and tossed his lance at Caiym, who dodged, only to be greeted by a gauntleted fist to his face. Caiym stumbled, slightly, but just enough. The ground beneath them crumbled, fell away. Byleth watched helplessly as her brother fell into the dark chasm, letting out a final roar of defiance.

Dimitri turned toward Edelgard, a wicked smile spreading onto his face. “For what you’ve done, for all the lives you’ve taken in your ruinous quest for power, for all those trampled under your uncaring heel… I will not forgive you!” He tore his lance from the ground and charged.

Byleth hesitated for a moment before rushing after her beloved. Edelgard raised her shield, exhaustion visible on her face. Dedue moved to strike her, but was turned aside by the Death Knight. 

A sinister laugh erupted from behind Edelgard. “I think not,” Hubert said with a wry grin. He, Edelgard, and the Death Knight vanished in a trio of white lights. Dimitri let loose a vicious snarl, throwing his lance again, though it passed harmlessly through the air that had once been Edelgard. 

Dedue approached. “Your highness, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Dimitri growled. He glanced at Felix and Sylvain. “Help me deal with that traitor.”

“At once,” Dedue replied immediately.

“You, too,” Dimitri said, gesturing at Byleth. “He was your  _ student _ , after all. The professor ought to be the one to resolve fights between their class, right?” He laughed bitterly.

“Dimitri, I…” Byleth couldn’t fight her tears any longer. “I just lost my brother, please…”

“There’s no time to mourn or grieve.” Dimitri glared at her coldly. “Either stand and fight, or die here.”

Byleth could only stare at him. “And what about Ingrid?” she whispered. “She was your friend, one of your closest, was she not?”

Dimitri paused, only for a moment. “I… will mourn her when it is time. For now, we’re not yet done.”

“With what? Your vengeance? Your self-imposed duty to kill those who have wronged you?” Byleth glared. “Sylvain will face justice for this, I assure you of that, but for now, do you feel nothing for her death? Do you expect me to feel nothing for my brother?”

“Simply put, yes.” He turned away from her. “Either help me kill Sylvain or don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

From above, Seteth’s call carried across the battlefield. “Retreat! Full retreat! Escape now with your lives!”

Adrestian soldiers and beasts encircled them. Byleth dropped to her knees. She’d considered death often enough before now, as an escape from the hell in which she’d lived for so long, but in this moment found herself unwilling to die. She had to save Dimitri. Had to protect her students. It couldn’t end like this.

A hideous roar shook her concentration. She and the soldiers glanced skyward, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a massive white dragon soaring overhead. The creature fired a jet of white light in a semicircle, annihilating the soldiers around them and cutting through several of the beasts.

Byleth seized her opportunity. Though the battle at Magdred felt like years ago, the memory of the burning forest loomed large in her mind. Byleth focused, briefly, drawing as much power from herself as she could. With a scream, she conjured a pillar of flame that tore through the remaining Adrestian line around them. “Retreat!” she called to Dimitri and Dedue. “I’m right behind you!” 

Dimitri cast a hateful look at the Adrestian line, but did as he was told, guided by Dedue. Felix followed suit, leaving his battle with Sylvain unfinished. 

Byleth stood steady. She had to do  _ something _ to protect her students. She raised her arms, drawing forth as much magical energy as she could, draining herself dry. With another scream, she pulled her arms forward, creating a thick wall of fire, cutting off the bulk of the Adrestian army from Garreg Mach. The towering inferno scorched through man and beast alike. She could only pray none of her students were caught in the blast.

She then turned, taking a shaky step forward, toward her home. She was only dimly aware of the ground rising up to meet her as she collapsed, the last of her consciousness fading away into sweet, serene oblivion.

_ End of Part One _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit it's been a month since my last post ;.;
> 
> Sorry for the slow updates! This chapter was around 45 pages in its first form and I... didn't want that lol  
> On top of that, I started my new job! Teaching! I have no free time now.  
> That said, part 2 will (maybe) happen! I've got concepts drafted up now, I just need to find the time and motivation to write them.  
> T̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶a̶i̶d̶,̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶d̶r̶a̶f̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶2̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶s̶e̶x̶ ̶s̶c̶e̶n̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶r̶n̶,̶,̶,̶,̶,̶ a;kjsad;lkgsa;dlg  
> But also, I'm having a really hard time wanting to continue right now. I dunno. The few comments and kudos I do get mean quite a lot, I'm just running out of drive to keep going with something so utterly self-indulgent as this.
> 
> Sorry to any Ingrid fans :c I like her too, and I'd already set myself on killing off one of the Blue Lions in the siege. I have plans for most of the rest and can't bring myself to harm Ashe, so... it had to be her. Please don't hate me! oTL
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!!


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: Rumored Reawakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After five long years (and a couple long months irl), Byleth and Caiym reawaken after the events of the Siege of Garreg Mach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back!
> 
> i'm not doing great tbh. depression's really taken a toll on me, and teaching has taken a huge toll on my free time.  
> but i haven't forgotten about this fic! so rejoice, all, like, eight of you that are following this! new chapter.

#  Chapter Twenty One: Rumored Reawakening

“Somehow, I knew I’d find you here, kid,” Yuri said wistfully, shaking his head. The spymaster’s office -  _ his  _ office - had been freshly restocked with intel, leaving the place a cluttered mess of scrolls, books, journals, and whatever else Yuri’s rogues could get their hands on that seemed important, piling stacks of paper all over his nice mahogany desk, a recent acquisition from what was left of Garreg Mach above. The only empty surface was his “fainting couch,” as Ladybird had called it, left empty to allow either one of them to relax on it during Yuri’s frequent late nights. Ashe sat, hunched forward, poring over pages of intel, seemingly ignorant of his adopted family behind him. 

The years had been kind to Ashe. What once was a scrawny, freckled mess finally looked like a proper knight, especially given his currently-worn combat attire: armor adorned with a pauldron styled after a castle’s tower, half-robes, and full gauntlets, covering his arms, still worn as he thoroughly examined Yuri’s missives.

“You’re still looking for her, aren’t you?” Yuri sat on his couch, leaning forward towards Ashe.

“Someone has to,” Ashe muttered in reply before returning to the page.

Yuri sighed. “It’s been five years, Ashe. If she were alive, don’t you think we’d have found her by now?”

“The Empire might have her hostage,” Ashe countered.

“Bullshit. If they did, she’d have been put up for ransom by now.” Yuri pursed his lips. “They know how valuable she is to  _ His Majesty. _ ”

“They also know the state His Majesty is in almost as well as we do. I doubt he’d be willing to pay much attention to a ransom demand.”

Yuri moved to speak, but found he couldn’t argue with Ashe’s point. Dimitri had been something of a roadblock more than a leader. Even now, he likely wasn’t aware of the class reunion of sorts taking place beneath his feet. “Fair point, but even so, why go to the trouble of keeping her this long?” He frowned. “She’s dead, Ashe.”

“I can’t just accept that without trying!” Ashe yelled, standing up forcefully, tears in his eyes.

“She really meant a lot to you, huh?” Yuri whispered.

“In a word, yes!” Ashe seemed to have stopped fighting back the tears, as his voice came out in choked sobs. “She was the first person at my side after Lonoto, before even you and Hapi! She was the best professor I could have asked for!”

Yuri shook his head. “Then mourn her and move on. The rest of us have.”

“Have you?” Ashe glared. “Why won’t you say her name, Yuri? Why do you talk about her so distantly?”

“Because she’s dead! There’s no point pretending otherwise. And besides, we have more important things than searching for a dead woman, especially her!” Yuri immediately regretted saying that out loud.

Ashe’s glare intensified briefly. He closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re not the only one who feels that way,” he said quietly. “Even Hapi’s been pretty blunt about not missing her much.” Ashe lowered his head. “But I do. I miss her dearly. Even if no one else does, that’s okay. I’ll find her.”

“You’re not the only one,” Yuri said standing. “Ladybird’s still a wreck sometimes. And from what I hear from Ignatz, Hilda’s been pretty inconsolable.”

Ashe paused. “You’re talking with Ignatz?”

“Yeah, he’s my contact in what’s left of the Alliance.” Yuri shrugged. “Honestly, it was him, Raphael, or Leonie, and of those, only Ignatz really has a head for spy business.”

“So you’re spying on Claude?”

“Eh, kinda. I’m just keeping an eye on him. He’s unpredictable, but so far I haven’t had a reason to distrust him. Other than the usual ones.” Yuri grinned.

“Anyway, this is distracting somewhat from my search,” Ashe said, sitting back down and taking up another scroll. 

“Okay, but I doubt you’ll find anything,” Yuri sighed, laying back down on his couch.

“That’s fine. I have to try.”

* * *

Cold.

She was cold. Deathly cold. Cold skin. Cold metal on her back. Cold body. It was all she could feel, as if the chill had become a part of her. She felt like she should be shivering, but couldn’t move her body even involuntarily. She wanted to scream.

“The body seems to be breathing again.” The sound shocked her. It was a voice. Those were words. She knew those words.

“Then the experiment was a success.” A different voice. She wanted to see what made the voices, but couldn’t. She still couldn’t move.

“What should we do with it now, Thales?” The first voice again. 

“Maintain your notes.” A third voice. “They’ll be invaluable for the Nemesis Project. As for the body, ensure it is actually alive again. Double check for any possible short term effects of the reanimation. Have it perform tasks, beginning with simple but moving to complex. Once we have more data, dispose of it however you like.” 

The body? What was the body? Was she the body?

“At once, Thales.” The second voice.

The cold metal went away. She was nowhere again.

* * *

Bernadetta hummed quietly to herself as she meandered along the river at the base of the mountain on which Garreg Mach had once rested. The beginnings of twilight were overtaking the last vestiges of the afternoon sun, and the sky was already beginning to darken, foretelling the coming night. It was easily Bernadetta’s favorite time of day, although night itself was terrifying for the darkness it promised. Still, anything was better than returning to the Varley estate, where her father waited for her.

When Edelgard -  _ Emperor _ Edelgard, she corrected herself - had requested one of the nobility move to the area around Remire to keep the peace, Bernadetta had leapt at the chance, not just to keep away from her father, but also to continue her search for Caiym. Even though it seemed fruitless given the years of searching, she refused to give up hope that she’d see her beloved professor again, no matter what state they were in. Her heart ached with their absence.

Bernadetta removed her boots and stood in the shallows of the brook, dangling a fishing rod into the water. She let out a carefree sigh, enjoying the twilight despite herself. The solitude was nice; she’d really only come to appreciate the company of one other person in her time at the monastery, so spending time alone never bothered her.

Her line caught on something. She frowned. She tried to pull it out of the water, but found it wouldn’t lift. She pulled harder, assuming it was stuck on a rock or something. A black gauntleted hand, clenched around her fishing line, rose from the river, followed by a drenched, but muscled torso, wet black fabric still clinging to it, pale green hair matted with river water and mud. Eyes the same shade as the hair snapped open, and turned to her. Bernadetta gasped and fell backward. Caiym leapt forward and caught her, looking her in the eye. They gently pushed her to her feet and patted her head. She hugged them without thinking twice, squeezing them tightly against her. They hesitated for a moment before hugging her back.

To her shock, they spoke, or tried to. Their voice wouldn’t come at first, but after a short cough, they managed, “Hello, Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta stopped fighting back her tears. “H-Hello, professor.”

* * *

Pain had replaced cold as all she knew. Her eyes and other senses had returned to her, slowly, over the course of days. She was in a strange metal box of a room, with a metal slab of a bed, a metal bucket in the corner that seemed to be connected to the floor, and nothing else. There was a door, she knew that much; the strange pale-skinned men entered through the same spot in the wall when they came to test her or use her. 

They’d started her with simple tasks: walk forward, sit down, stand up, step over this stool, things like that. As the days passed, they’d moved on to more complex actions, with the occasional simple command: walk in a small circle then stand in place and count to five, repeat the words I’m about to say while moving from a sitting position to standing and back ten times, lie on your back and spread your legs. She had complied, not knowing what else to do, not even knowing who she was. She remembered the name “Dimitri,” but with a twinge of sadness. It wasn’t her name, probably. It was familiar, beautiful. Sometimes she would say it to herself, usually when the pale men made use of her. 

She didn’t remember much else. There were vague memories of a monastery or a castle or something, but that was about that. She had a nagging feeling she had to be somewhere, but couldn’t place anything; she barely knew what life outside this box would be like.

It wasn’t long before the pale men entered again. They carried a tray of food: bread, chunks of meat, small vegetables, and water. She devoured it as if on instinct. They nodded, wrote something down, and began barking orders.

* * *

Hubert looked through the hidden window into Byleth’s cell with contempt; not for her, for once, but rather for the creatures that kept her so imprisoned. Much as he disdained her, it seemed a pointless cruelty to keep her confined like this. Cruel as he could be, he refrained from senseless sadism at least, putting him a notch above these insects.

He turned back to face “Lord Arundel” beside him, at present his only company in the odd room Arundel had kept in his fortress along the Airmid river. It was cold and metallic, filled with laboratory and chemistry equipment, metal tables covered with tools and vials and the like haphazardly organized surrounding the ten-cubic-foot cell in which Byleth was contained. The floor was some kind of unusual rubber, muffling the sounds of footsteps in a manner that was at once distressing and yet intriguing to Hubert.

“This is your ‘experiment,’ Thales?” he muttered, frowning. “You’ve reanimated the dead Eisner girl? To what end?”

“To see if it was possible,” Thales said, a disgustingly smug grin plastered on his face. Hubert briefly considered pouring concentrated dark magic into him to watch him squirm, scream, and die. As pleasant as that might be, he had to wait.

“And so it is. In that case, why simply keep her around? Could she not have value as a hostage? I am certain there are those in the Kingdom remnant and the Alliance that would pay a hefty ransom for her.”

“She has been a fascinating research tool,” Thales said with a slight shrug. “We’ve been considering putting her to use on the battlefield, assuming she’s retained her former magical prowess, anyway.”

“And if she hasn’t? What then?”

“Then we continue our research.” Thales turned away from him, facing the prisoner within her cell. “My underlings seem to have grown quite fond of her.”

“Is that so?” Hubert fought off a wave of renewed disgust for these creatures. “And why is it that you saw fit to show me this poor wretch in the first place?”

“No particular reason.” Thales always smirked when he lied.

“Let me guess, as a testament to your power and what you’re capable of should Her Majesty and I turn against you?” Hubert chuckled. “I had thought you might’ve remembered our discussion all those years ago. You can’t kill me so long as you need Her Majesty.”

“Oh, but we can, Vestra,” Thales said, turning to face him, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “We can kill you and return you just as obedient as she is.” As he spoke, Hubert watched with horror as Byleth began debasing herself for the creatures’ amusement. “Her  _ Majesty _ would be none the wiser, too.” Thales smiled wider. “I do, of course, remember our conversation. It got me thinking, ‘how can I remove that arrogance from you?’ And here is my answer.” 

Hubert turned away from the disgusting display beside him. Thales would be the biggest obstacle. He could wait until Thales departed, then return. He’d begin by slitting the throat of the guard out front. Or perhaps a stab to the heart? That would certainly be faster, yes. A stab to the heart, followed by a disintegration of the body and a replacement of the man with one more loyal to the empire. Then he would enter the hidden segment of the fortress, where the three  _ creatures _ would be waiting. He wasn’t quite certain of their capabilities. Perhaps he would lie his way into the cell and find some way to restore Byleth’s memories? No, too uncertain. He would, as ever, have to rely on himself. A miasma to the closest, followed by bursts of dark magic to the next-closest, then a knife to the throat of the first, finished with an improvised method of killing the third. It would be sloppy, but it would get the job done quickly. From there, he could worry about restoring Byleth’s memory and getting her out, perhaps starting a fire to suggest that she’d escaped. A small, uncharacteristically caring, act of defiance, but hopefully it would be enough to give him an advantage in this little game with Thales.

“Well, well, it seems I’ve finally figured out how to shut you up,” Thales said with a grin belying a soon-to-be-shattered confidence.

“So it would seem,” Hubert said as a cryptic smile spread across his face.

* * *

Leonie wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her archery glove. Another day, another raid by House Gloucester stopped by Leonie and her Blade Breakers. It had been surprisingly easy to recruit the remnants of Jeralt’s mercenaries to fight for the Alliance. None of them were terribly keen on working for the army that had killed their captain, after all, nor did they have much interest in fighting for the doomed, penniless Kingdom of Faerghus.  _ Where _ Claude got the money to pay them was cause for some concern, but could be set aside for another time.

The clearing around her reeked of blood and sweat and worse things. She’d long-since grown accustomed to the stink, which was probably not the best sign. She hefted her lance and rested it across her shoulder, glancing out over the horizon into the rapidly-setting sun. Only now, as night fell, did she truly feel winter’s chill as the cool Guardian Moon breeze whipped at her sweaty skin. She shivered slightly, regretting leaving her cloak behind; she might not have needed it on the battlefield, but during the cleanup, the warmth was appreciated. 

She took a step forward. One of the Gloucester troops grabbed her leg, pleadingly. She grimaced, and stabbed the man through his chest, finishing him off. There was no time for mercy, and at this point she had none to spare for anyone who backed Edelgard anyway. Five years of war had dulled her compassion and hardened her heart to stone. She’d changed, but she’d had to. She wondered sometimes if Jeralt would be proud of who she’d become, or if he’d despise her.

Leonie let out a short sigh. “Good work here, men. Let’s finish cleanup and head back to base. Drinks are on me!” The soldiers cheered, and Leonie grinned. The loyalty of mercenaries was surprisingly easy to maintain. She gathered her soldiers and marched back to their ‘base,’ such as it was. They’d set up in a village not far from Deirdru, directly between House Gloucester and House Riegan. It’d been a risky move by Claude, maintaining the border disputes with nothing but mercenaries, but even Leonie knew he couldn’t afford the political turmoil that would result from sending full-on Leicester soldiers to fight his civil war for him. 

So it was her job to kill Lorenz’s men without mercy and without hesitation. 

Something about slaughtering a former classmate’s army didn’t sit well with her. She’d tried reaching out to Lorenz before he’d formally declared allegiance to his father and to the Empire, but to no avail; he’d been dead-set on opposing Claude. Given how the other Golden Deer had always treated him, she couldn’t quite blame him for his retaliation. She’d really tried to befriend the poor, lonely boy all those years ago; after all, she’d been just as lonely, often overlooked by her classmates as “obsessed with Jeralt” and way too much of a busybody. 

She sighed. That was years ago now, and whatever she’d been back then didn’t matter now. 

Eventually, their march brought them to a hill overlooking the village they’d called “home” for the past few months. Even now, the vague familiarity of a small fishing village felt somewhat nostalgic for her. She almost missed Sauin from time to time.

Almost.

Leonie began her march into town, though before long, something caught her attention.

“Captain!” She glanced behind her toward the source of the voice. One of her messengers bolted towards her. He snapped into a salute, which she returned, though keeping her demeanor casual. 

“I’ve told you all before, there’s no need to be so formal with me,” she said.

“Sorry, captain.” He bowed slightly. “This is important.”

Leonie frowned. “All right, boys, go ahead into the tavern and tell ‘em I sent you.” Her soldiers rushed on ahead. “No rowdy business!” she called after them. She shook her head, then turned back to the messenger. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Captain… our scouts have found Jeralt’s children.”

* * *

Bernadetta sat opposite Caiym, who sat uncomfortably in a velvet-lined chair at her less-than-lavish private dining table, a round wooden thing that wouldn’t look out of place in a mid-level merchant’s home if not for the velvet-lined dining chairs. They hadn’t spoken a word since the river, but Bernadetta didn’t mind. She was just happy to have them back. Before each of the pair sat a plate of fish, flavored with lemon, a meal Bernadetta vaguely remembered her professor liking that wasn’t just sweets. 

“Much better than those fire-cooked fish we had to eat while camping out, right?” she said, to break the silence. Caiym nodded, taking a big bite. Bernadetta smiled. “I missed you, professor. I missed you a lot.” She paused to let them answer. When they didn’t, she continued, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the wedding ring they’d given her, years ago, shortly after their father’s death. “I’ve… I’ve always held onto this, hoping to either remember you with it or give it back to you. So, um, here.” She held out her hand.

Caiym studied the ring briefly. They closed her fingers around it and pushed her hand back, shaking their head.

“N-No, professor, I can’t keep this!” She blushed. “I-It’s meant for your wife, o-or husband, I don’t judge either way!”

Caiym shrugged, then returned to eating their fish without a word.

“What does that mean?” There was no response. “Professor, what does that mean?!”

Caiym only shrugged.

* * *

Hubert watched the ashen-skinned creature, the final one that had survived Hubert’s assault, crumple to the ground, slain by a scalpel to the heart. Hubert adjusted his coat, frowning somewhat disdainfully at the bloodstains splattered across it. He supposed it couldn’t have been avoided. Carefully, he turned the handle to Byleth’s cell.

The former professor was truly a wretched sight. Naked, she sat hunched in the corner, her hands clutching at the sides of her head. Malnourishment had rendered her once-robust physique ghoulish, her ribs visible above a flattened stomach. Whatever process the beasts had used to revive her had turned her formerly-dark hair white as a sheet, similar to Her Imperial Majesty’s, and her eyes a freakish black and red. He frowned. “I don’t suppose you’re in much of a mood to talk, then?” Hubert muttered. “No matter.”

Byleth looked up at him. For a moment, seething hatred crossed her expression, before being replaced by confusion.

“Now what was  _ that _ look about, I wonder?” Hubert chucked.

“Who are you?” Byleth asked weakly, her voice coming out as more of a croak than Hubert had expected.

“You’ll remember soon enough,” Hubert said with a wave of his hand. “And to think, you’d been dead almost five years, and yet you’re standing here now. A little worse for wear, certainly, but compared to  _ death _ , that’s still quite remarkable.” He was muttering more to himself than to her, though it mattered little. “Grab my arm, and whatever you do, do not let go.”

Byleth complied, albeit apprehensively. Hubert nodded, then produced his wand of recall. He paused a moment, then blasted the door to her cell off its hinges, knocking it into some carefully-placed chemical compounds that just so happened to be flammable when mixed in the configuration he’d arranged. Oops.

As an explosion rocked the fortress, Hubert tapped the wand to his finger, and he and Byleth were gone without a trace.

* * *

“And you’re sure?” Yuri raised an eyebrow at Ashe. “Byleth’s alive?”

Ashe nodded earnestly. “I only caught a glance at the market before I lost track of her, but I’m sure! She has white hair now, but it’s definitely her! She’s wearing her old glasses and dancing outfit even, so it’s  _ got _ to be her!”

Yuri pursed his lips. “That’s impossible,” he muttered. “Where the hell did she even  _ go _ for five years?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ashe shouted. “She’s alive! We have to go see her!”

Yuri cocked his head to the side slightly. “Easy there, kid. We can’t go chasing down a random woman just because you think it’s Byleth.”

“It  _ is _ Byleth!” Ashe protested.

“Even if it is,” Yuri countered, “she’ll be making her way here, yeah? It’s smarter to wait.” He frowned. He really didn’t want to dash this kid’s hopes, but there was no way that could’ve been Byleth, and not just for the white hair. Yuri had watched her die. He’d run back to her after the battle and found her cold, lifeless body, not a trace of breath in her lungs. He’d cried back then, mourned as much as he could, and then had to drop it to focus on the war. As had everyone. Only Ashe maintained that she was alive.

“I guess you’re right,” Ashe said, nodding thoughtfully. “She’d definitely want to make her way back to the monastery for the Millennium Festival.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “The what?”

“The Millennium Festival! The thousand-year anniversary of Garreg Mach’s founding! The Blue Lions had all agreed to meet up for it. If she’s coming here, that  _ has _ to be why!”

Yuri sighed. “Right, the Millennium Whatever, how could I forget? Look, when she shows up, why don’t we send out invitations to the rest of your classmates, yeah?”

“You really don’t think it’s her, do you?” Ashe said quietly.

“Whether I do or not is irrelevant. If she shows up and it’s her, then great, but I don’t want you out chasing wild geese, kid. We’ve got a spy network to run.”

“No,  _ you _ have a spy network to run,” Ashe retorted. “I’m just doing what I can for the Kingdom. That includes Byleth.”

* * *

Byleth had regained something of her old figure in the months since Hubert had left her at House Ordelia. Memories had returned slowly, and she wasn’t sure she had everything just yet, but at the very least she remembered enough: her name, her students, the events that had lead directly to her… death felt wrong, given she was sitting there now, but she couldn’t deny she’d been gone for nearly five years. Her magic had taken the longest to return, though Lysithea had been a godsend in that department, running her through basic drills as needed. 

Byleth winced thinking of Lysithea now.

She felt bad, running from House Ordelia like this, but the Millennium Festival was coming up, and she’d promised her students they’d reunite there. 

She’d snuck onto an Adrestian merchant caravan travelling through the area, past House Varley’s territory, and slipped away towards Garreg Mach. In just a few days, she’d gone from prisoner in all but name to standing before the only place she’d ever truly called home. 

It was in ruins now, of course; walls shattered by Adrestian siege engines, picked clean by scavengers, and fallen into disrepair, but she couldn’t deny the swell of nostalgia that filled her as she looked upon the monastery again.

She half-ran her way through the gate. She paused by the empty spot where the Gatekeeper always stood. She wondered where he was, if he was even alive. She shook her head. Her students would be waiting. 

She stepped into the entry hall, and gasped, seeing the lines of bodies strewn about, hacked apart as if by a beast. The blood was relatively fresh, too. She followed the trail of bodies, leading her up another flight of corpse-littered stairs to the second floor. Against the wall, lance in hand, sat a tall, blond man clad in dark armor and a blue, fur-lined cloak. His head tilted upward, his single eye locking on Byleth’s face. He stood, his expression darkening. “I never would’ve imagined,” Dimitri said coldly, “you’d come to me to die like this… Edelgard.”

Byleth didn’t hear a word he’d said. She ran forward. He made to ready his spear, but she reached him first. She wrapped her arms around her beloved, resting her head against his chest as she always had. He paused, perplexed.

“I’m home, my love,” she murmured. 

Dimitri blinked. “Byleth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of my hesitation to bring it back was not knowing what to do about byleth's resurrection. then i thought, "resurrection!" it sets up nemesis (who i plan on including despite him being a verdant wind character, not azure moon) and gives byleth an excuse to be gone for five years.
> 
> as always, thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy!


	22. The Delusional Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri have an emotional reunion. Yuri gives Byleth a friendly greeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!!! fic's not dead, i promise! just been adjusting to my new job, new home, and grad school PLUS holidays x.x things are hella hectic. BUT! i'm back with a new chapter! enjoy! ^^

#  Chapter Twenty-Two: The Delusional Prince

Byleth barely processed the shove that tore her away from Dimitri. She fell backward, landing just shy of the stairs, sitting, facing the man she’d loved. Dimitri stared at her with a rage she didn’t recognize. 

“So you’re alive,” he growled. “And you wait until now to show yourself?”

“I never meant to-” she began, rising to her feet.

“To what?” Dimitri’s glare intensified. “To disappear, and re-emerge, looking like that vile woman? To abandon your students when we needed you?”

Byleth looked away.

“Your silence is the only answer I need.” Dimitri pushed past her.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she whispered.

Dimitri stopped, not keeping his back to her. She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell just from the tension in his body his scowl hadn’t vanished or softened. “Am I?” Without another word, he made his way down the stairs. 

Byleth followed, trailing slightly behind him. What had driven her beloved to this point, she wondered? He’d been difficult before the siege, but not quite this bad. Aloud, though more to herself, she muttered, “What have you been doing the last five years?”

Dimitri grunted. “I have been dead, more or less. But I could ask the same of you.”

Byleth winced. “I, too, have been dead, more or less, or so I’m told. But you look alive, if a bit rougher than-”

Dimitri whirled around, glaring down into her eye. He’d always been tall, but now he positively dwarfed her, she noticed. “What do you hope to gain from this? Was it not enough to abandon us all, to abandon  _ me _ , for years? Must you also prattle on endlessly about nothing?”

Byleth looked away again, her eyes firmly on the ground. “I missed you.”

“Then why didn’t you come back before now?” Dimitri grabbed her chin with a gauntleted hand, turning her head roughly to face him. “Why hide for years and years, letting us mourn for you?”

“I… I don’t know what to tell you. According to Hubert, I was dead.”

“Hubert?!” Dimitri roared, throwing Byleth to the floor. “So you  _ are _ working with the Empire then! You damned traitor!”

“No, Dimitri, wait!” she cried. “It’s not like that! I was… well, Hubert’s the one who saved me from captivity, anyway!”

“To what end? To use you as a spy?” He leveled his lance, pointing it at her throat. “Talk!”

“I-I don’t know!” she said through tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know!”

Dimitri scowled, glaring down at her. Byleth stared into his eyes, hurt, confused. Eventually, he turned away from her. “Do as you please, then. But understand this. If I see any evidence that you’ve betrayed me, then I will kill you.”

Byleth rose to her feet. “Dimitri…”

He grunted and moved away from her. He stood before the remains of the goddess’s altar, glaring intensely at nothing, muttering to himself. 

“Dimitri, what happened to you?” she whispered. He offered no reply. 

Uncertain of what to do with herself, Byleth sat in a nearby pew, one of the few still standing. She inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling through her mouth, her eyes closed. She needed to think, to focus. Lysithea had filled her in on much of the situation at hand during her stay. Over the intervening five years, Edelgard’s war had spread across all of Fódlan, replacing the Holy Kingdom with the Faerghus Dukedom, pushing the Kingdom loyalists into House Fraldarius’s territory, leaving them backed against the coastline, surrounded on all other sides by Adrestia. As for the Alliance, only Houses Riegan, Goneril, and Edmund remained truly loyal to Liecester, to Claude. The rest were in the pocket of House Gloucester, who was in the pocket of the Adrestian Empire. Garreg Mach was largely abandoned, barring the occasional Adrestian patrol, the remnants of which were scattered around the entry hall. 

It was a difficult situation, especially given that Byleth was fairly certain the Empire knew exactly where they were after Dimitri’s stunt with the patrols, not to mention her own escape from Lysithea and House Ordelia. Their best hope for survival would be unconditional surrender, but one look at Dimitri was enough to snuff out that idea. Their next-best option would be to gather what reinforcements they could from wherever they could and attempt to take back the Faerghus capital of Fhirdiad. With that, they’d have the resources and the men to attempt to push back against Edelgard, beginning with the Alliance territory and moving into the rest of the so-called Dukedom afterward. A pincer attack from both sides was quite likely to squash the Gloucester forces loyal to Edelgard, leaving the now-unified army to march against the rest of the Dukedom. From there, assuming the Empire maintained their aggression, the now-unified Northern Fódlan would march into Adrestia and conquer Enbarr. 

It was a plan roughly as sturdy as tissue paper, but it was a plan, she supposed. She wondered if she’d be able to convince Dimitri to follow along with her. 

She stood, and, against her better judgment, approached her beloved.

* * * SMUT HERE * * *

_ Content warning: Dubious consent, rough sex _

“Dimitri?” Byleth grabbed his shoulder.

Dimitri whirled around, batting her hand aside with one hand and grabbing her throat with the other, not hard enough to stop her airflow but enough to cause a little discomfort. “What do you want?” He kept eye contact with her as a cruel smile spread across his lips. “Wait, let me guess. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What do you-” she began.

Dimitri cut her off with a kiss. He tightened his grip on her throat as a hand reached behind her, grabbing her butt, squeezing roughly. He then slid it to her thigh, just above her knee, and lifted her leg. Byleth squeaked in surprise, but didn’t resist, unsure herself whether or not she wanted this. He turned, turning her with him, and pressed her back against a nearby pillar. The hand on her throat moved, grabbing her other leg, then slipping between them, working underneath her dress and rubbing against her slit. She gasped through the kiss, reaching her own hand down and grabbing his wrist, almost but not quite in protest. His fingers ran along her gently at first, and then all at once two of them pushed her panties aside and thrust into her. She nearly lost her balance if not for Dimitri continuing to hold her in place. 

He moved his fingers aggressively, brushing his thumb against her clit. At last he moved his mouth from hers, briefly, before moving closer again. This time, though, he bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She let out a yelp. “Dimitri, what-” she began, before a sudden thrust and curl of Dimitri’s fingers evoked another gasp, cutting her off. She could feel the pleasure swelling in her lower body as she moaned and gasped from his continued assault. 

Just as Byleth was nearing climax, however, he suddenly withdrew his hand. She turned to him, confused, and opened her mouth to speak. He interrupted her with another kiss, pausing to lick the blood from her lip. Dimitri moved his hand to her still-straight thigh and lifted her off the ground entirely. He pressed her against the pillar with his body weight, fumbling one-handed with his belt and his breeches, barely suspending her with the other. Byleth draped her arms over his shoulders, clinging to him so as not to fall. She could feel him positioning his cock against her. At once, without warning, he thrust into her, grabbing her thighs once again. She twitched slightly, letting out a loud moan. He silenced her with another kiss, thrusting wildly into her, her muffled gasps barely escaping between their intertwined lips. Again, Byleth felt herself nearing climax.

Suddenly, she felt herself moving, taken from the pillar and pressed against the floor. Dimitri continued his frenzied thrusting into her, the less-awkward angle affording him an increased pace. His hands quickly moved from her thighs to her throat, their grip again just tight enough to be uncomfortable. He glared down at her, a seething fury in his eyes she didn’t recognize. She stared up at him, the confusion and concern breaking through her surprise and pleasure. She reached out a hand, gently brushing his cheek with the back of her fingers. His grip tightened, glare intensifying. He hastened his thrusts as well, as if fighting her with his rapid motions. She put her hand behind his head, pushing him closer to her. He gritted his teeth, grimacing in her face. She leaned up, only slightly, barely able to move, and kissed him, softly, on the cheek. As she lay back down, she thought, for a moment, she recognized the man she once knew and loved in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. With one final thrust, he released into her, pulled himself off her and stood, pulling his breeches back up and fixing his belt.

“Satisfied,  _ professor? _ ” he asked, a sardonic tone dripping from every syllable.

“Are  _ you _ ?” she countered. His cruel grin faded. She stood, adjusting her clothes. “I had hoped to speak to you as equals, but if you insist on acting this way, then so be it.” She frowned, hoping her glare matched his. 

“You? My equal? Don’t be absurd.” He chuckled darkly. “I will do exactly as I please. I will take what I please. If you don’t like it, fine. Abandon me as you did before.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “I never abandoned you! And you will do no such thing.”

Dimitri moved forward, towering over her, head downcast, cold blue eyes staring directly into her soul. “Do you think you can stop me?”

Byleth stood her ground, feeling slightly ridiculous with her disheveled dress and his seed dripping down her legs, but still held her ground. 

At last, he turned away. “Fine. Do what you will.” He made his way back to the rubble that had once been the altar and sat atop a slab of stone, eyes downcast and unfocused, staring at nothing.

Byleth let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

* * *

“Well I’ll be damned,” Yuri muttered, staring through the old chapel window at his former professor. His undersold external reaction was purely for Ashe’s benefit, inside he was panicking as hard as he could. He’d seen her body, felt the lack of pulse, the lack of breath. Buried her, even, in a small, shallow grave. He’d sworn not to tell anyone, lest he crush the last of their hope, but even so: here she was. Alive. Confronting Dimitri.

Ashe smirked triumphantly. “I  _ told _ you she was alive!”

“You definitely did do that, kid,” Yuri said, shaking his head. 

Ashe turned and started running towards where they’d come from. “You said I could send the invitations when she got here!” he called back. “So I will!”

Yuri frowned, raising an eyebrow. “You do that,” he said under his breath. Yuri put his hand on the windowsill, deftly leaping over it into the chapel. He landed with scarcely a sound, unheard by either of the two within. He approached quietly, intending to listen in on their conversation, maybe stalk Byleth out of here and confront her away from the grief-driven psychopath. 

At least, that was his intent, before Dimitri decided to get a little too hands-on with her. Yuri sat in hiding behind a still-standing pew, averting his eyes from their frenzied sex, certain his face was rather twisted by the mix of disgust, boredom, and frustration he felt. He’d leave, but then he’d have to deal with finding her again later, or worse, her leaving. Still, this wasn’t exactly how Yuri wanted to spend his afternoon. And besides, he had his doubts she’d just up and disappear…

Just as he made up his mind to leave and confront her later, the couple stopped, and instead began arguing. Just in case, Yuri remained hidden, keeping his eyes on the wall. He waited until Byleth passed by his hiding spot to follow her, keeping his footsteps light and quiet. If Dimitri had noticed Yuri at all, he’d made no indication of it, so Yuri was safe in that regard at least.

He followed Byleth out of the chapel and onto the bridge. Figuring there’d be no better time to confront her, he picked up his pace, running in front of her, and turned to face her.

“Hey, Byleth,” he said with a smirk. 

She paused only for a moment, then paled. “Y-Yuri. Um, where were… how much did… um?”

Yuri chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. And while I’d love to sit and chat…” He drew a knife from his belt and in a single motion tripped Byleth and pressed it to her throat. “…I’m also positively  _ dying _ to know how the hell you’re alive when I buried you.” 

Byleth, to his surprise, barely reacted. She sighed deeply and pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know. I know it’s an unsatisfactory answer, but it is the truth. I was…” Her expression grew pained for a moment, before calming. “The empire had me captive for some time. Not long, I’m told. Months, maybe?” 

Yuri glared into her black-and-red eyes. Seeing no hint of deception, he stood, sheathed the knife, and helped her to her feet. “Sorry about that, professor,” he said easily, offering a half-hearted smile. “I just had to be sure, yeah?”

“I understand,” she said flatly. “However, threatening my life felt unnecessary.”

Yuri winced slightly. “Yeah, sorry about that. But anyway, welcome back, Byleth. You’ve missed a hell of a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter this time around, sorry!!!! i'll hopefully be back on a regular posting schedule! gonna try for once a week at *least* i promise!!! ^^


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